


Triboelectric

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Scientist!Ten, Sparks, Triboelectric, Vitex Heiress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”<br/>― C.G. Jung</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charged Encounters

_{{ May, One Year Ago }}_  
  
The problem with having had three breakups in the span of twelve months was that your friends all thought it was their duty to help you. They meant well, of course. There was no doubt about that aspect of it: they did it because they cared.  
  
Rose was grateful, she really was.  
  
Especially considering that the first step was always: provide alcoholic drinks. Copious amounts, to be consumed liberally over the course of the first post-breakup week. Amy was good at this.  
  
Second step: dramatically and vehemently blacken the ex in question’s personality, character, and physical traits; all the while insisting that it had been willful deceit and emotional fuckery of the highest order that had blindsided one, and not idiocy on one’s part for having not seen it coming because jerks always excelled at hiding their asshattery. Amy was really good at this, too. The Scottish accent helped.  
  
Third step: round up an endless line of single acquaintances and start hinting that love could be found once more.  
  
It was a set-up, alright.

The party had begun to wind to a close when Amy said, “There’s someone here you should meet.”

The gleam in her friend’s eyes did not bode well but was nothing particularly new. What was unsettling, however, was the pointed way in which Amy’s straight-laced and generally sweet boyfriend, Rory, said: “Hullo, Rose! Have you met my neighbour?”

"No," said Rose carefully, betraying nothing but wariness in her tone, "I have not."

"Trust me," said Amy in her most cajoling voice, "He’s totally your type! Tall, dark and foxy!"

"Foxy?" repeated Rory.

"Yeah, in a geeky science nerd kinda way." She winked at Rose, "Sorta like, oh, I dunno, a hot Professor you’d like to-"

"He’s not her Professor, he’s my neighbour."

"Same difference. And he’s older! Bonus points. I’ve always pictured you with an older man. Wait right here," said Amy, seizing Rory by the arm and dragging him off. As they departed, Rose heard Rory mutter, "Do you wish I was older or something?"

Rory’s neighbour was standing at the edge of the room, his back turned to her.

 _Not bad_ , she thought, _nice bum_.

The Ponds, as they were affectionately known, descended upon him and after a moment’s exchange returned with him in tow. Rose considered escaping to the loo or hiding out in the kitchen but she was too slow.

They drew close, and-

 _Oh_ , said a little voice in her head, the one she was trying her best to ignore. _Oh, oh, oh_.

"Older’ had been a bit of a stretch. He was probably in his mid-thirties, not exactly collecting his pension checks yet. ‘Foxy’, well, it wasn’t a term Rose would typically use, but it certainly applied. She felt a pang of regret that she had sworn off men for the foreseeable future because he was a looker, indeed.

Rory, who would never win awards for public speaking, said awkwardly, “Rose, this is Doctor John Smith. He lives next door. Doctor, this is Rose.”

"Hello," the Doctor said, his brown eyes coming to rest on her face. There was a dreamy look to his smile. It was far too appealing.

"Hello," said Rose, and for the first time she thought, _maybe this time_ -

They shook hands. As soon as their fingertips made contact, a static shock made Rose gasp. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it did take her by surprise.

"Oh," he said, his eyes wide. "Sorry, blimey, that was strong-"

"S’alright," she replied, smiling. "I’m-"

"Ah-" he said, his eyes darting to her left. "Excuse me!"

And he was off, like a metaphorical shot, letting himself out of the door and disappearing completely from sight.

 _Well. Maybe not._  
  
"Doctor! Where are you going?" Rory called after him, looking flabbergasted and threw Rose an apologetic look. "Sorry. He’s- um, easily distracted. He’s nice, though. Really nice bloke. Smart."  
  
Rose accepted the drink Rory hurriedly procured for her and spent the rest of the night rubbing at her hand, where the sensation of bygone electricity lingered like an irritant. The dreamy Doctor didn’t return, but Rose thought that was really for the best, and even managed to extract a grudging promise from Amy that there would be no more matchmaking, of any sort from here on out.

 

* * *

 

 _{{ April, This Year }}_  
  
"And here is the beautiful bride with her lovely friend, enjoying a touching moment. How’re you enjoying the wedding, love?"  
  
Rose grinned into the camera, but Amy wandered off again, having spotted one of her guests doing some of the world’s most embarrassing drunk wedding dancing.  
  
"Oh yeah, loads, the bride is trying to get me drunk as you can see." She held up a champagne flute and took a long drink from it.  
  
"Gorgeous girl like yourself, drinking alone? Where’s your date?"  
  
"No date. Not since you dumped me for Martha."  
  
The camera whirled around. “That’s a joke, folks. Haha. Martha, babe, if you’re watching this a month from now, she’s lying, it was over before we even met.” He winks. “But I might’ve dumped her for you, if we’re being honest. _Ow._ Sorry. Too soon?”  
  
Rose snickered.  
  
"Mickey!" A loud shout caught his attention, he turned away from Rose, who sighed with relief. "C’mere! FILM THIS DANCING, I DEMAND IT."  
  
She managed to avoid the lens for a good two hours, during which the residents of reception hall got progressively more and more drunk, thanks to the open bar, which had been made possible by way of a large wedding gift from Pete Tyler to the Ponds.  
  
In a stroke of sheer brilliance, Rose had introduced willowy, photogenic Amy Pond to the advertising team, capitalizing on the company’s desire to youthen up it’s image. Like Rose, the casting director had instantly loved her upon first meeting. Nobody could rock short skirts quite like Amy could, and her feisty redhead image was fresh, memorable. Numbers were on the rise, Amy’s tenure as their spokes-model proving to be a resounding success.  
  
Rose was reaping the benefits now, sitting on her sixth - no, seventh, no, maybe it was the ninth? - glass of fizzy. She had lost her heels after a round of dancing, spent five minutes searching for them in vain, given up, and was now sitting at an abandoned table.  
  
The newlyweds had left before the reception ended, having to catch a very, very, early departure flight for their honeymoon. They had bid their goodbyes cheerfully, advising all and sundry to stay and party until the sun came up, or until they were too sick to continue.  
  
This proved to be a blessing.  
  
With the vague notion of going to the loo, she got up and made slow progress across the room. Someone else clearly had the same idea, someone as equally tipsy as she was, and as Rose tried to maneuver around this new, tall, suit-clad obstacle, she swayed.  
  
A hand shot out to steady her, and it was quickly snatched back as a startling shock snapped between the bare skin of her arm and his fingers. Rose gasped from the pain and the man shook his head, his hair wild and his eyes wide.  
  
He was sort of familiar looking, aside from good-looking, but she couldn’t place him. Rubbing her arm and glancing at him through her winces, she wondered, _where have I seen you before?_ It was hard to focus when her brain was clouded by alcohol and far too much good cheer.  
  
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" he was saying, bobbing on the spot, clutching a handful of his own brown hair. "That was a doozy of a shock!" He grinned.

 

* * *

 

The bloke’s arm was around her, barely. Rose was swaying back and forth, one hand resting on the back of his neck. It wasn’t really dancing, but it wasn’t really not. Every time someone jostled, pushed, or bumped into her, she collided with him, closing that little bit of space between them. Each time that happened, he seemed to trip over his own feet.  
  
"Are you drunk?"  
  
"Not even tipsy!"  
  
"Don’t believe you," she said, with as much flirtiness as she could muster, feeling warm and flushed.  
  
"I’ll prove it. Floccinauccinihilipilification. Wanna hear it again? ‘Course you do, fantastic word. Here you go: Floccinauccinihilipilification."  
  
"You made that up."  
  
"Did not. Point is, I’m completely sober. I said it twice without tripping over any of the i’s. You try."  
  
"Nah. My tongue’s not as nimble as yours."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yep. I might be tipsy. But not drunk. Nope."  
  
"I think you’re drunk. You’ve gone all pink. Look at your nose."  
  
"Nope," Rose insisted, swaying. "Oops. No. Not drunk."  
  
"Careful! How do you feel?"  
  
She considered for a moment before answering. “Alright. Bit peckish, I s’pose.”  
  
Behind them, one half of an angry couple in the middle of a heated argument leapt up from a table, upending a lovely candle floral arrangement, and toppling it into a glass of scotch. The glass was knocked over, its contents flowing onto a half eaten plate of soup. The soup-scotch mixture proved to be extraordinarily flammable, and within seconds, the table was on fire.  
  
Then the sprinklers went off.  
  
In the morning, Rose could only remember lots of shouting, someone shoving her towards an exit, and the impression of a pin-striped suit. And wet. Lots of wet.  


* * *

  
 _{{ Five Days Later }}_  
  
"The catsitter’s gone AWOL," Amy’s voice said over the static-ridden line, sounding slightly harrassed and a little wobbly.  
  
In the background, her husband’s voice shouted something unintelligible. Amy responded with a crabby yell that made her listener wince at the volume, “I’m talking to Rose! Hang on a tic, will ya! God, it’s bloody blazin’ here, I can barely breathe!”  
  
Presumably the heat of the Egyptian pyramids was making her feel faint, and not just in the ‘ _omigod-i’m-on-my-honeymoon-and-fulfilling-my-childhood-dreams-of-looking-at-mummified-corpses’_ way. In the might-have-sunstroke way, which would be a rather poor outcome for the happy newlyweds, given the somewhat inauspicious ending to their actual wedding celebrations.  
  
"Will you stop worrying and enjoy yourself? Send my love to Rory. I’ll drop by tonight and check on Ducky," Rose promised over the phone, then told Amy to go and sit down and drink something before she rang off.  
  
Ducky was Rory’s inheritance from his Aunt Brenda, a crochety old tabby who had shared in her owner’s personality and temperament. Her name was a bit of a mystery, there were many theories and Rory maintained that it was better that they didn’t know. Ducky’s origin story was also shrouded in secrecy - Aunt Brenda had liked to tell people she had saved Ducky from drowning in a pillowcase in a well by sinister neighbours when she was a little girl. It was a far-fetched tale in every aspect, considering his old aunt had grown up in London, had never gone within ten steps of any sort of well, and that story would make Ducky well over 50 years old.  
  
The old cat hated Rory, hated Amy, and tolerated Rose, who had an affinity with cats. Even so, she was cautious when approaching the tetchy feline, having several faded scars on her forearms as proof of the folly of bravado. Ducky did not take kindly to any sort of manhandling and was not afraid to shed blood if offended.  
  
Armed with treats in her purse and the Ponds’ front door key, Rose drove to their building and took the lift up to their flat. She was about to let herself in when she heard a strange sound coming from the next door over.  
  
Rose hesitated, slipping her phone out of her pocket. She took a step towards the other door, keeping her ears peeled for any sort of sound that would indicate a living presence. Maybe it was Ducky, somehow having found her way into the neighbour’s?  
  
Tentatively, she knocked on the door and said, “Hello?”  
  
To her concern, it creaked open under the rap of her knuckles. Unlocked. That was… not good. A sort of moaning floated towards her ears, instantly putting her on edge - it sounded rather terribly like a person in pain.  
  
She pushed the door open and went in, emboldened by the thought that there was someone who might be in need of help inside the flat.  
  
"Hello? Is anyone here?"  
  
The entrance was empty, and so was the living room just beyond it. The flat had the same layout as Amy and Rory’s, so Rose knew that the adjacent door would lead into a kitchen. There was a strange scent in the air, a sort of acrid bitterness, almost like… she hurried across the room, stepping over an abandoned pair of slippers and a banana peel that lay on the carpet.  
  
"Oh my god," she breathed, spotting the body as soon as she entered. He lay on the ground next to the oven, sprawled out, eyes closed, seemingly unconscious.  
  
Rose fell to her knees beside him, reaching out to check for a pulse, for any vital signs- the static shock that resulted from her touch made her jump in surprise, horrified-  
  
His eyes flew open, scaring the bleeding crap out of her.  
  
"Ouch," he said, setting a hand on his chest.  
  
Relief swamped Rose, but was quickly followed by alarm and fear, as the bloke began to groan in genuine pain. She touched him again, tentatively, a nudge to his arm. His head turned slowly to look at her.  
  
"Are… are you alright? You fell, I think. Have you had some kind of episode? Should I call for an ambulance? No, don’t move!" She snapped the last bit, somewhat hysterical, wondering if she ought to just call for help since he seemed in a daze and unable to process any of what she’d just said to him.  
  
She checked his wrists, for some sort of band indicating allergies or medical conditions. He wasn’t wearing anything. If she hadn’t been so frazzled in her concern for his well-being, Rose might have looked at him more closely and realised that his thin, pale, freckled face was a familiar one that she had seen before, on more than one occasion.  
  
He blinked rapidly, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Then, inexplicably, his gaze focused and cleared.  
  
"Oh, it’s _you_ ,” he said, slowly, eyes widening, as if that meant something.  
  
"Uh," said Rose, staring at him, wondering if he’d hit his head when he fell. She opened her mouth, to ask, but he winced suddenly, lifting himself slightly and said-  
  
"We have to get out of here. Immediately."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Fumes," he said, wrinkling his nose, as Rose helped him to a sitting position. He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Yes. That’s it. Fumes. The fumes knocked me out."  
  
Alarmed, she asked, “Fumes? What fumes?  
  
"Experiment," he replied, frowning. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on Rose as he did so. "Didn’t expect that outcome, which is unusual for me, but that’s what happens when you get distracted." He mumbled on, a string of words she only half-caught, scientific-sounding mumbo jumbo about chemicals and temperatures and boiling points and gas pressure, yanking at his hair as he yapped.  
  
"Right," said Rose, cutting into the diatribe, her head starting to spin a bit. "Right. Okay. Let’s… let’s just get you out of here, okay? Away from these fumes." _And me too_ , she thought grimly, realising that she had walked into the middle of some kind of bizarre mad scientist’s lair, disguised as a bloke’s flat.  
  
"No, no no!" He pulled away with a burst of energy that was unbelievable considering he had been flat on his back just moments before. "The windows! We’ve got to open them, to release the fumes!"  
  
"Release the-" she sputtered, outraged, "Release them where? That’s dangerous!"  
  
"No, they’ll dissipate into the atmosphere, it’s only dangerous in concentrated amounts, or in a small space like this flat. C’mon! Help me."  
  
With the feeling of being corralled into a decision she’d regret, Rose ran over to the windows and wrenched them open. She felt a hand tug at her own, and then she was being dragged out the front door, which was slammed shut behind them.  
  
She looked up at the man who was holding her hand, and said faintly, “D’you hear that?”  
  
He tilted his head, still pale in the face, and cocked an ear. “Hear what- oh.”  
  
The sound of angry meowing, and frightened feline running, back and forth, behind the walls of the flat. The bloke let go of Rose’s hand, yanked the door open, stuck his head inside, and put two fingers to his mouth. The deafening whistle that followed was only overshadowed by the livid screeching of Ducky, who was nothing but a flash of tigerish stripes and claws as she streaked past him.  
  
"Oi! I’m supposed to feed you!" Rose shouted at the streak, but it was pointless. Ducky was long gone. She’d find her way back, Rose supposed, and at least she wasn’t in danger from the fumes. Right, the bloody fumes.  
  
"Now what?" she demanded.  
  
"Well, it’ll take a while for the gasses to fade, even with the windows open. We’ll have to wait out here, I s’pose. Blimey, my head’s sore!" He winced, rubbing at his temple.  
  
Rose momentarily forgot her consternation, concern overtaking her. “Are you okay?”  
  
"Think so." He was white as a sheet, but his eyes had started return to their normal state, going from the unnatural dilated black of his pupils to a lighter, warmer brown. She took his arm and guided him firmly down into a sitting position, against the opposite wall, between two doors. She sat as well and let him recover for five minutes before she began to drill him on what had happened.  
  
She gathered from his rambling answers that he often conducted chemistry experiments in his flat, that the cat had startled him in the middle of tonight’s exercise, that he’d dropped a canister of something whose name consisted of a long list of letters and numbers and _bang!_ so to speak. To sum up: he was an absolute loon. But in a disarmingly charming way, riotous hair and all. His blue shirt was wrinkled and buttoned wrong, and there was a suspicious dark stain on the knee of his brown trousers.  
  
"How long before it’s safe to go back in, d’you reckon?"  
  
"About two hours," he said, scratching his chin.  
  
"Two hours," Rose groaned and let her head fall back against the wall. "Hang on! Why can’t we just go into Amy and Rory’s flat?"  
  
"Well, ehm, usually we could do. But you didn’t see it, I s’pose? The… hole. In the wall." He added, quickly, "I think these two flats share a vent, as well, so it wouldn’t be safe either way-"  
  
"Amy’s gonna murder you," she told him, in genuine pity.  
  
"Yes," he said, with immediate acceptance of that fact. "But tell you what, I can run rather fast. Long legs." He gestured at them, at the converse trainers on his feet, and wiggled one.  
  
"Amy has long legs," Rose pointed out, fully aware that this conversation was completely inane, "She used to do track and field in school."  
  
"Huh," he said, sounding thoughtful but not particularly worried. Most of the colour had returned to his face, she’d been checking to make sure (and noticing in the back of her mind that he was sort of cute), but one could never be sure.  
  
"I think you ought to let me drive you to the A &E."  
  
"No need," he said, firmly. "I’m fine." He glanced sideways at her. "I’m the Doctor, by the way. What’s your name?"  
  
"Rose Tyler."  
  
"Rose Tyler," he said, repeating her name to himself, as though testing out the words on his tongue. She waited for the consensus, watched as a slow smile bloomed and spread into a wide grin. "Nice to meet you, Rose Tyler."  
  
 _Oh_ , whispered that little voice in the back of her head. And suddenly she remembered - that night a year ago, at Amy and Rory’s engagement party, when they had been introduced for the first time. That moment, when she’d looked up at him, and thought, _this one_.


	2. Contact Electrification

* 

It was a bit ridiculous, at the ripe age of twenty-three, to have gotten herself separated from her father and become lost in a silly old Museum, but here she was. The smiling private tour guide had said, “If you’ll come this way, Mr. Tyler, Miss Tyler,” and Rose had had every intention to follow, but a pregnant woman with two small children standing close by had suddenly come over faint. Noticing her sudden pallor, Rose had hurried over to steady her.

Now she was wandering about the place, trying to spot a slightly balding (“It’s distinguished, Dad, it means you’re confident in yourself, no combovers or silly toupees needed”) ginger tycoon in an Arsenal jacket, Pete’s idea of casual weekend wear. How could they have gone so far in such a short time?

It was supposed to be their father-daughter bonding day, with a little bit of work thrown in because Pete could never _really_ go five daylight hours without checking in with the office. He had ulterior motives in bringing his daughter to the Science Museum - Vitex’s charity foundation, spearheaded by Jackie Tyler and a gaggle of accountants, had recently been courted by a prominent council member for a hefty donation to the Sciences.

Dad wasn’t picking up, even though she’d rung him twice. Reception was terrible inside the building. Rose found one of those YOU ARE HERE maps, stared at it for thirty seconds, felt even more confused as she was totally hopeless with maps, and finally located a Guest Services desk.

Just her luck, no one was manning the station. There was a bell on the counter, an oddly quaint touch, something you’d see in an old shop and not in a cutting edge museum showcasing humanity’s greatest scientific achievements. Rose tentatively pressed it.

A head popped up from behind the counter. “Hi!”

"Holy sh-!" she bit off the curse, aware of a family with children passing behind her. The face that looked back at her broke into a wide, unmitigated smile of recognition.

"Rose Tyler! It _is_ you!” exclaimed the Doctor, his tousled brown quiff bobbing as he shot up to his full height. “Hello!”

She stared at him, bemused. “Doctor? You work here?”

"Oh no, I’m just watching the desk while my friend goes to the loo. Well, I say friend, just met her ten minutes ago, but she’s very nice and I think we ought to be friends. It’s kind of fun back here. The bell’s fun, isn’t it? Feel like I’m a bellhop. Room 316, ma’am!" He beamed at her, as though she were in on the joke (she wasn’t) and leaned over the counter, abruptly declaring, "You’re _lost_ , aren’t you?”

"How do you-"

"Cameras," he said, pointing at something behind the tall counter she couldn’t see. "Saw you wandering up and down the exhibits. Bit grainy, wasn’t sure if it was you or just someone who looks a lot like you, but then you walked right up here!"

"Can you see my dad on the screens?"

"Dunno. What’s he look like?"

"Tall, losing his hair, wearing a football jacket - should be with a guide, she’s got a yellow blouse on-"

"Ah. Sorry. No luck. Maybe they went upstairs. These cameras only capture footage on this floor."

"Figures," she sighed. He kept looking at her expectantly, with that same blithe smile on his face so she said, "You alright, then? No long lasting damage from the fumes?"

It had been about a week since the escapade, and Rose hadn’t seen the Doctor since. He’d adamantly refused to let her take him to the hospital, and had stubbornly insisted on going back into his flat afterwards. She’d made him promise not to repeat the experiment, or she’d _report_ him to the authorities (a fairly vague, and probably unimpressive threat) and he had given her his word. He seemed to be in good health, his mood bright and exuberant.

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort. Fit as a fiddle, me. I’ve a very strong constitution. And you? Thank you for coming to my rescue."

"You’re welcome," she said, "Thanks for chasing down Ducky with me."

"Least I could do to help."

Admittedly he had, though terming it as ‘help’ was debatable in Rose’s opinion. He’d spent two hours chatting her ear off about anything and everything beneath the sun and hadn’t a clue where Ducky might’ve run off to despite having been a resident of the building for over five years.

"Thanks for giving me that boost into the bins behind the parking garage, by the way." A completely unnecessary effort since unbeknownst to them Ducky had been back inside the flat by then, but she gave credit where credit was due.

"It was my pleasure."

It _almost_ sounded like he was making a pass at her but the Doctor looked perfectly earnest, his smile never wavering. He hadn’t felt her bum up or anything at the time, either. A less scrupulous man might have covertly copped a feel but something in her gut told her he wasn’t the type.

He leaned on the counter, chin on his knuckles, looking for all the world like an eager schoolboy.

"I’m very familiar with the Museum, you know. It’s your first time, isn’t it? I could show you around. No point in wasting a perfectly good guide when you have one right at your fingertips. I know all the secret places."

She regarded him skeptically. Was _this_ a pick up line? With most blokes she’d say yes, but Rose couldn’t tell with this one.

"Tempting, but I can’t," she said, "I’ve got to go and find my Dad. He’s around here somewhere."

"Oh. Right." The disappointment was obvious on his face.

"I’ll see you later."

She walked off, before he could speak again. It was a shame, really, he was gorgeous, all tall and lean and with hair she’d enjoy running her fingers through. But he was also bonkers. Absolutely bonkers, and she wasn’t having any of that, thank you very much.

"Are you following me?" she asked incredulously, looking over her shoulder. The Doctor had leapt out from behind the modern grey receptacle and was striding forwards behind her.

"Yes," he said shamelessly. "I’ll help you find your father. I owe you."

"No need."

"I insist."

"What about your friend?" She nodded at the counter. "Won’t she be upset when she comes back to find you’ve up and left?"

"Part of Guest Services’ duties is to help parents find their lost children, and vice versa," he quoted, finger in the air. "I’m only helping her do her job."

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to catch up, easily done with his longer stride. Pulling her phone out, she fiddled with the display.

"Darn, my mobile’s out of battery," Rose said. "Can I use yours?"

"Haven’t got one."

"What?"

"Haven’t got one," he repeated pleasantly. "Don’t need it."

"You haven’t got a phone." She sighed. "Of course you don’t. Just my luck."

"Astrid - my friend - told me your father’s in the IMAX theatre for a scheduled private showing. S’pose they went on ahead without you."

"Oh, lovely," she muttered under her breath. "Er- so where is it?"

"Ah…" he shrugged, apologetic. "You won’t be able to get in, actually. I’m told they bar entry once it starts. It’ll be an hour at least."

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Rose grumbled.

"On the bright side… that’s exactly enough time to do a full round of the Space Exploration exhibit upstairs! Lucky you, Rose Tyler - there’s a mini-planetarium, small, but it’s got all the big constellations and planets visible from Earth, and I know them all, so-"

"-You’re persistent, I’ll give you that."

"Did I mention that I can get you early access into the extended exhibition? There’s an exit only door at the back that leads into a staircase that opens onto a side street that houses some of London’s finest confectionery establishments?"

"…Is there?"

"Oh yes. How do you feel about cream puffs? Macaroons? My treat. Whaddaya say, hey?"

"Oh, go on then," she said, making a face so he knew she was agreeing because he’d worn her down, not because she thought the Planetarium sounded kind of cool, and definitely not because she was kind of hungry.

He grinned. “You’re gonna love it!”

"Lead the way."

 

* * *

 

"Okay, so the exhibit doesn’t open until next week. Easy mistake to make. But just because there aren’t any flashing lights and no Morgan Freeman voice-over telling us the recorded plight of humanity dims in significance next to the horological existence of the stars over the course of time and space doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves!"

"…Are we locked in?"

"No." Pause. "Yes. But there’s a back exit!"

"There’d better be."

"Did I mention, there’s a Portugese bakery just a block from the exit? They have these little egg tarts, have you ever had one? Oh, just wait, you _haven’t lived_ ‘til you do, Rose Tyler!”

 

* * *

 

As they stepped out of the bakery, the Doctor asked, “Do you like jokes, Rose Tyler?”

"Might do. What have you got?"

"Why does a moon rock taste better than an Earth rock?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"Because it’s a little meteor!" He laughed uproariously, settled, and peered at her. "No? Okay. Not to worry, I’ve got another! Okay, here’s one: why did the Dog Star not laugh at the hilarious joke?"

She looked at him, wary. “Why?”

"He was too _Sirius_.”

Rose made a face. Then she added, consideringly, “He was always my favourite Maurauder when I was a kid, though.”

"Oooo- mine, too!"

"Next."

"When do astronauts eat lunch?"

She couldn’t help but grin, her tongue sticking out. “When it’s launch time?”

He grinned back. “You’ve heard this one before?”

"I guessed."

"Clever."

"Nah, your jokes have a pattern."

"What pattern?"

"You’ve a fondness for bad and easily predictable puns."

"They’re not bad!" He scoffed, and handed her an egg tart, giving her a shock where their fingers brushed. "They’re an acquired taste, puns. Bit like poetry. Hard to appreciate at first, you have to get used to them."

"Puns are not poetry, you’re so full of it. Oi, what do you think you’re doing with that? Give me the bag. They’re my tarts! I paid for them."

"I told you, I forgot my wallet." He at least had the grace to look sheepish.

"So you say. You’re just a cheap date."

"I am not cheap!"

He didn’t refute the _date_ bit. Not that Rose considered this a date, anyway, not by a long shot. So she’d kind of (thoroughly) enjoyed herself, and had giggled more in the last hour than she had on her last ten dates combined, but so what? He was _bonkers_ , and she wasn’t interested. Nope. Not even a little bit. She didn’t care that he stood a little bit too close, that whenever he grazed her hand she got literal shocks (and a few non-literal ones, too), and she absolutely didn’t care that his hair looked really soft and he did this distractingly pout-y thing with his lips when he ate-

"Why are you looking at me all funny? Is there something on my-?"

Rose dragged her eyes away from his daft face. “Nothing. You’re - you’re fine. I have to go back and find my dad now. Seriously. I mean it this time.”

 

* * *

 

"Rose! Where on earth did you go? It’s been nearly three hours!"

Rose self-consciously licked the corner of her mouth, where _pasteis de nata_ crumbs still clung to her lips. “Sorry, dad. I couldn’t find you and I got hungry, so…” She held up a white bag bearing a bakery logo and said brightly, “Got you something, though!”

Pete shook his head fondly, and she slid her arm into the crook of his elbow. Rose inhaled his comforting Dad scent - a mixture of expensive aftershave, washing powder, coffee, and ashy cigar smoke. She’d wondered for years, growing up, what dads smelled like, and now she knew.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Not yet," he replied. "There’s one more presentation, the most important. One of England’s leading researchers in Chemical Biology has a lab established here. His work is going to be on display for the first time in this museum and we’re going to meet him. I’ve been told he’s brilliant," her father enthused, as their guide led them onto a lift. Pete seemed unable to quit gushing. "He’s made extraordinary achievements for his age."

Solana of the yellow blouse smiled with bright pride. “A bonafide prodigy.”

"I heard he solved some mathematical theorem or other when he was ten years old. Won a prize, quite a tidy sum for a little kiddy."

"Definitely a genius," agreed Solana. "He’s a touch eccentric, but all geniuses are, no?"

And with that, Rose knew exactly who they were was talking about, before she saw him, before anyone said his name. They approached a group of people wearing lab coats, one tall suit-clad form standing out in the sea of white. Solana tapped him on the shoulder.

"Doctor Smith? We’ve been looking for you. This is Pete Tyler, CEO of Vitex Industries. I do hope your presentation is ready?"

The Doctor turned, and bestowed on them a pleasant smile. “Absolutely! Call me the Doctor. Nice to meet you.”

Pete shook his hand firmly, and then gestured to Rose, who was standing behind him, out of sight. “This is my daughter.”

Rose came forward, a little grin on her face, waiting until he took her hand to give him a wink. He’d get a kick out of that, she knew. But to her surprise, he didn’t seize her palm. Instead, he shifted his feet apart, his stance slightly stiff, as though he were holding himself back.

"Hi," she said, a bit puzzled. This was a drastic change in demeanor, considering not more than thirty minutes ago, they’d been chomping on pastries together and exchanging bad jokes. She realised he’d added a tie to his outfit, a paisley number that contrasted with the blue oxford and pinstriped brown suit.

"Hullo, Rose." The smile came out, but it was a bit sheepish. "Sorry. I- well, I can’t touch you. Static, you know."

Pete looked back and forth between them, and Rose said, quickly, “We know each other, Dad. It’s a long story.”

"My instruments are delicate," the Doctor explained, looking directly at Rose as he spoke, his tone apologetic. "Even a little spark could potentially damage them beyond repair. Could… could you wait outside, until we’re done?"

Pete opened his mouth, but Rose nodded. “It’s okay, Dad. I don’t mind.”

The Doctor apologized, looking very sorry indeed. Ten minutes later, the entourage poured back out of the laboratory, expressions lit up with excitement.

"That was amazing!"

Pete spotted her. “Sorry, love. Some bonding today has been. I lost you for hours and then you miss the Doctor’s demonstration.”

"That’s alright," said Rose, accepting the kiss he bestowed on her forehead. "I never liked science in school anyway."

"Let me take care of this lot," said Pete, "And then we’ll go out for dinner, just me and my little girl."

While her father conversed with the lab coats, the Doctor wandered over to Rose and asked, in a genuinely staggered tone, “You didn’t like science in school?”

He looked so offended by the mere suggestion, it was difficult to hold back a laugh. “Not really,” she replied, “It wasn’t my best subject.”

"So? Science is… science is brilliant!"

"If you say so," said Rose, lips twitching.

"It is! It’s completely and utterly brilliant! I’ll take you on a tour of this entire Museum if I have to, I’ll prove it to you-"

"You should take my dad instead, he’s your biggest fan," she teased.

"I’m completely serious!"

"Me too. He’d love it. He’d get more out of it than me. I barely understand half the things you say."

"Not true! You got all my jokes!"

She snorted. “Yeah, that’s the same thing.”

He looked at her, bemused.

"I’m _blonde_?” Rose tried to make the quip sound blasé. It wasn’t quite successful - the Doctor frowned at her. She wished she hadn’t said anything, and she wasn’t sure why she done so, but it was too late to take it back now.

"What’s wrong with blonde? I like blonde."

She smiled a little at that. “Easy for you to say. No one’s made blonde jokes at your expense, I’ll bet.”

"No," he agreed with an arch of his brow. "You get that a lot, then?"

"Had my share, I s’pose," she said diffidently. "Been called ‘airhead’ behind my back and to my face more times than I can count."

"Oh, me too!" He said, without an ounce of sarcasm. "All the time!" He met her skeptical look with an earnest face. "Head in the clouds. Daydreamer. Brains but no sense."

"That’s for sure," she said, and then giggled at the look on his face. "Admit it, you’re a ditz! The first time we met, you shook my hand and then ran away from the party!"

He looked at her, astonished. “I didn’t run away! The table was on fire!”

"What are you talking about?"

"The sprinklers came on! You screamed!"

"What on earth-" She frowned, uncomprehending, until it dawned on her what he was referring to. Amy and Rory’s wedding. "I don’t remember…" _You_ , was what she meant, but she said, “… much. Towards the end.”

"Understandable," he shrugged, unmiffed that she honestly couldn’t recall his presence that night at all. Blimey, she’d known she’d been drunk, but _this_ drunk? “It got very messy.”

"That wasn’t our first meeting, you know. About a year ago, when Amy moved in with Rory. They had a moving-in party."

Rose felt a wave of embarrassment, recalling Amy’s insistence that the Doctor was Rose’s type; foxy, he’d been called, and it was still true. She just couldn’t figure out why Amy had thought they’d be any good as a couple, he was just so… so…

"You really don’t remember?"

"No," he admitted after a moment of silence, in which she could see the cogs in his head turning, hard, trying to locate the memory.

"Nice to know I made an impression on you," said Rose dryly. "S’pose you don’t remember why you ran off, either?"

"Nope," he replied, rubbing his neck. "Sorry, I- blimey, I can’t imagine how I could have forgotten _you._ "

"Yeah," she agreed, deciding not to read too much into the statement. Impulsively, she reached out and poked him in the hand with a finger, making him jump from the electric zing. "How could you forget this?"

A rueful little smile curved up the corner of his mouth. “Well. Third time’s the charm, isn’t it?”


	3. Adhesion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Have never actually played Angry Birds, and I’m not a physics expert, so if the physics in Angry Birds is accurate, well, I’m sorry.

*

"HULLO, ROSE," said Rory upon opening the front door. He cocked his head. "Ah. Here he comes."

” _Rose_!”

The Doctor bounded into view with a big smile on his face, looking for all the world like an energetic puppy greeting a beloved mistress. In his haste to reach her, he didn’t notice Ducky was underfoot and almost tripped.

Rose felt her usual mixture of affection and amusement as she regarded him. “Hello, Doctor.”

"Down, boy," said Amy’s voice, loud and clear from the other room. Rory smirked, but the Doctor didn’t seem to notice.

He reached out and took Rose’s hand - that was a thing, too, with him, he loved holding hands. A shock passed between them as always. Even though Rose expected it she couldn’t help but wince.

"Sorry!" The Doctor straightened his _brainy specs_ \- what she’d taken to calling the black-rimmed glasses he wore sometimes when he was being particularly _Doctor_. “Sorry, I don’t know why that keeps happening! I mean, plastic soles and no carpet, it doesn’t make any sense!”

"S’alright," she said and bent to pet Ducky, who for once submitted to the stroking without putting on a show of disdain. Ever the coquette, the cat only deigned to accept one pass of Rose’s palm and began arching against the Doctor’s pant leg again, tail swishing in an enticing manner as she tried to capture the attention of her favourite human. Her love went unrequited as always for the Doctor had declared himself not a cat person. The concept was utterly foreign to Rose.

"I do wonder. Maybe we’re both naturally pre-disposed towards carrying static buildup - just something about the chemical makeup of our bodies?" He looked consideringly at his palms, completely ignoring the feline.

"It’s always the ones you can’t have, isn’t it?" Rose muttered to Ducky with a sigh. "Mine’s Elvis. He’s dead."

She followed the sound of Amy’s voice and went into the kitchen, aware of the Doctor behind her, looking her up and down. Normally that would have made her feel self-conscious but she knew with him there was no intent behind it.

Amy was setting the table. “He’s been here for two hours,” she complained, as Rose came over to kiss her on the cheek and take the plates out of her hands.

"He overheard us through the - you know what," said Rory, very nearly committing the vital mistake of saying ‘hole’. Amy had not taken that discovery well. "Er, I mean, he overheard Amy on the phone with you-"

"-And shamelessly invited himself over!"

"Well, he did promise to look at my computer," Rory said, ever a proponent of fairness. "Except he hasn’t."

"I did look at it," the Doctor said, offended, "I just haven’t _fixed_ it yet.”

"You spent an hour playing Angry Birds and gave me a lecture on physics because I said you weren’t planning the shots properly and that’s why you kept missing-"

"Yes, well, I was under the impression the game took real life physics into consideration, therefore I made my calculations based on that misapprehension-"

"Why can’t you just play the game?"

"So when are you going to get that fixed?" Rose interrupted, before the conversation got too far out of hand. "The hole, I mean."

"We’re trying to find a contractor who’s willing to tell our landlord they’re just putting in new baseboards."

"What for?"

"Mostly because Mr. Wickstead isn’t exactly a fan of the Doctor’s-"

The Doctor’s head snapped up, he looked completely floored, “He’s not?”

"Course he’s not," Amy said scornfully. "You flooded the lift last year with that triplexi-whatsit stuff! You’ll face eviction if anyone finds out you blew a hole between our flats!"

"Right," said the Doctor, his ever changeable mood taking a sudden turn into cheerful evasiveness. "Let’s go look at your laptop again, shall we?"

Once the boys were gone, Amy demanded, “What is this? You two dating now? _Please_ tell me you’re not.”

"That’s a bit rich, coming from you. You tried to set us up, once," Rose pointed out.

"Yeah," said Amy darkly. "That was before I realised he’s crazy. I’m sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I? Had a hunch he’d go for you."

"Come on. He hasn’t got a clue about that stuff. He just wants a best mate."

"He is not your best mate. _I’m_ your best mate. I’ll tell you what he is - he’s in love with you, but he’s too dumb to know how to go about it properly. You know I’m never wrong about these things.”

"Oh, come off it, Amy. It’s not-"

She was interrupted by the subject of their conversation bursting into the kitchen, “That’s not how thermodynamics _works_ , Rory-“

"I know," said Rory, sounding peeved, "But-"

Rose hoped that would be the end of that line of questioning. She didn’t quite know how to classify her relationship with the Doctor - it was so unlike any relationship she’d ever had with other blokes.

In the weeks since the night she’d found him on the floor in his fume-laden kitchen and their subsequent - she was hesitant to call it a date… _adventure_ , then - at the Science Museum, they’d run into each other several more times before Amy and Rory had returned from their honeymoon. He had incredibly sharp ears, somehow always appearing as if out of thin air whenever Rose swung by to feed Ducky in the evenings.

He’d latched onto her, was constantly nipping at her heels and forever inviting her to come out and play. His idea of ‘play’, however, was pretty off-kilter. A super-smart, scatterbrained genius, who didn’t notice much outside of science and had a tendency to lose track of his surroundings, possessions, and train of thought - her complete opposite, in many ways.

She’d had a hard time explaining to her father how she’d become acquainted with England’s foremost Chemical Biologist, a man so smart he was unparalleled in his field despite being bloody _young_ and held the distinction of _two_ doctorates and several other honorary degrees besides. In the end she’d told the basic truth: he was Amy’s neighbour, and they were friends, of a sort.

 

* * *

 

They sat down to dinner and once again the Doctor began speculating on the cause behind their constant shocking of one another. It was his favourite mystery. She was momentarily forced to surrender her fork mid-meal as the Doctor reached across their plates to take her hand. He turned it over to study her palm, as though he’d be able to divine the secrets of the Universe from it.

"Even if you have wall-to-wall carpeting in your flat, the charge ought to have dispelled once you got here, but it just seems to get worse every time."

He frowned, idly tracing his finger down her life line. The ticklish sensation made Rose feel even more self-conscious, particularly because she knew Amy was watching.

"There isn’t enough medical research in the area to provide a sufficient answer, unfortunately. I can conduct experiments, but as the problem seems to affect us solely, it would take hours and hours of study and require exclusive amounts of-"

"No experiments!" Amy said, slapping the Doctor’s hand away from Rose’s. "Do not conduct any experiments on Rose, I forbid you!"

The Doctor halted mid-speech, startled by this dramatic decree. “But-“

"No buts. I don’t want you putting holes into her."

"I wouldn’t put holes into Rose!"

"Yeah, yeah, you’d rather put something else into her, I know," muttered Amy.

Rose choked.

The Doctor opened his mouth and closed it. Then opened it again, and said, thoughtfully, “You know… it just occurred to me… maybe your blood has an excess of ions? What’s your daily salt intake? Oh, it could be your system, maybe your system is too acidic! We should really look into that.”

 

* * *

 

It was a warm May evening, so Rose decided to walk the seven blocks from the Pond’s back to her own rather than take the tube since she hadn’t elected to drive that day. The Doctor said he wanted to come along too and stretch his legs, so they set off together.

His mood had switched gears. When his head wasn’t preoccupied with the laws of entropy or chemical bonds, he became insatiably curious, questioning Rose about herself, filing the details away - probably just to forget them later.

"How’d you become friends?" he asked, referring to Amy and Rory.

"I knew Rory, first, believe or not. His mate was in some of my Uni courses." Rory had brought his girlfriend with him to one particularly boring party, and Amy had been the only person present that Rose had liked. Amy had regaled Rose with stories of being a kiss-o-gram on the side while she worked on her struggling modeling career. They’d hit it off and quicky become friends.

"Now she’s everywhere," Rose said, grinning. She pointed at a parked truck on the side of the road. A giant advert showing Amy holding a bottle of Vitex greeted them. "She’s very popular. More popular than my dad, and he was on the posters for years!"

The Doctor was gazing at the advert, his eyes wide with amazement. Like he’d never seen it before, or had never really looked-

"What?" Rose asked, "Seriously? You never noticed?"

There was a lot to notice, too - the masses of red hair billowing out behind her, the fitted outfit consisting of a vest top and shorts, the long legs that always attracted attention and made Rose feel like a dwarf standing next to her friend.

"What did you study at Uni?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly, as he was wont to do when confronted with something he didn’t want to acknowledge or didn’t know how to respond to.

"Business. I’m still enrolled. Still a student, technically."

"You are?" His eyes lit up. "Brilliant! I loved school."

Rose didn’t. “On a break,” she said. “I’m working for my Dad right now.”

Pete wanted to pass his legacy onto Rose, wanted her to be the next generation in his empire. She tried not to think about it too often, or the pressure would become unbearable. It was hard enough keeping her grades up to par without the added stress of being the _future leader_ of a multi-industry corporation.

"I went to Uni when I was 11," he told her.

Rose couldn’t imagine it. Going back to finish her A-levels at 19 had been hard enough, and she’d turned twenty by the time she’d entered University.

"That must have been hard," she said.

He seemed surprised by her comment and said slowly, “Yeah, it was. It was challenging. I was alone a lot. Everyone else was a lot older.”

"Were you bullied?"

"Not really. Mostly left to myself. It wasn’t bad, you know, I liked it most of the time. It was fun. I learned a lot. Still learning. Everyday." He smiled, and shoved a hand in his hair. "You know, when I tell people that, their first reaction is usually different. You’re the first person who felt sorry for kiddy-me."

Rose felt a little tug on her chest, and opened her mouth to speak, but her mobile started buzzing. She pulled it out of her bag with an apologetic shrug. There was a new message, from her mum.

_Call me, love, we need to talk about Saturday night. Your dad says you should invite that Doctor friend of yours. If he’s not busy, he can be your date. Mum, xxx._

Rose sighed and turned off her phone.

The Doctor nudged her with his shoulder. “That sounded serious. What’s wrong?”

"Nothing," she said, slipping the device into her pocket and making a face. "Just my mum. You know how it is, parents."

He smiled, but didn’t say anything in response to that.

"Sometimes I think you’ve got the right idea. Not carrying one of these. Keeps people from bugging you all day."

"Weeell," he said, scratching his chin, "It’s not really because I don’t want people to call me. I like talking on the phone. I’m very fond of phone booths, especially. There used to be so many of them around, when it rained you could just jump into one and hide out until it stopped pouring. Portability’s overrated, if you ask me. Keep losing the fiddly little things. I think I lost nine of them before I just gave up. Rory’s got that game on his, though." He paused, looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should-" A grin flit over his face. "Yeah, I should give it another go, and then I could call you if-"

"No way! I’m not giving you my number so you can call me up in the middle of the night to rant about animated bird physics!"

"You don’t have to tell me," he said smugly. "I already know your number."

 _Amy,_ she thought. _Or Rory?_ But inexplicably, he went on to say, “You told the woman at the bakery.”

She blinked. “What?”

"When we got the egg tarts. You wanted to hire them to cater your mother’s event."

"I remember," she said slowly, "But…"

The Doctor waved his hand, as if it were obvious. “I was right there. I’m not hard of hearing!”

When she still looked at him blankly, he seemed to realise this was another one of those times where something he’d done was out of the ordinary and required explanation. Like, for instance, inundating his flat with toxic fumes. “I memorized it.”

"My phone number."

"Yep."

"What is it, then?"

He recited it. “Easy peasy. Nowhere near as long as Pi, that one goes on forever, three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-five-three-five-eight-nine-seven-nine-three-two-three…”

He continued until he ran out of breath and darted a glance at her out of the corner of his eye with the barest of pauses. Whatever lay in her expression seemed to please him and he inhaled deeply before plowing on, “World’s longest prime number: Mersenne’s prime, current record held at two to the power of fifty-seven-million, eight-hundred-eighty-five-thousand, one-hundred-sixty-one minus one. I’m good with numbers. Remember ‘em if they’re important.”

Dazed by the breakneck stream of digits that had flowed from him, Rose didn’t immediately register the last bit. It took a few seconds for his meaning to take. She blinked, wondering if she’d heard right.

And on the heels of that tidbit, she then realised that they had taken a wrong turn somewhere and were heading in the opposite direction _away_ from her flat.

"We’re going the wrong way, Doctor."

He gave her a sidelong, measured look. “There’s a chippy down the street. Brilliant shop! They serve the chips in newspaper, classic. It never tastes the same without if you ask me!”

"But…" Rose was puzzled. "We just had dinner with Amy and Rory."

"All this walking’s made me hungry again. Don’t you want chips?"

She wondered if Amy had told him this, or if he had somehow just guessed her culinary preferences. She paused, and then finally said, “You’re not going to be cheap again, are you?”

"No! Well. Yes. I didn’t bring my wallet. I forgot. Again."

"Figures. Fine, chips are on me. I’m going to start a tab for you, just wait."

The Doctor grinned, held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Shall we?”

"I’m not going to get lost," she said wryly, "You don’t have to hold my hand."

But he kept waggling his fingers and looked so silly standing there doing it and not caring a whit that Rose gave in, bemused. She slid her fingers between his cool ones, and the little spark of static that accompanied the touch didn’t hurt at all this time. He bestowed upon her a smile that could have melted icebergs in the dead of winter.

"Did you know," he said, swinging their palms as they walked, "That egg tarts were invented by Catholic monks before the 18th century, Rose? At the Jerónimos Monastery in the civil parish of Santa Maria de Belém, Lisbon. There weren’t any dry cleaners back then so people used egg-whites, believe it or not, for starching their laundry. Which meant that all the leftover egg yolks had to be put to use somehow…"

"Fascinating," said Rose. They walked another block, right to the entrance of the chippy shop he was so enamored of, before she made up her mind.

She paused. “Doctor?”

"Yes?"

"You haven’t got plans this Saturday, have you?"

"Nope!"

She bit her lip, careful to keep her tone casual. “So you’re free?”

He came to a stop, head bent, expression eager with anticipation, and said, tongue touching the roof of his mouth, “Free as a bird, Rose Tyler.”

 


	4. Spark and Crackle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer update this time. Enjoy!

*

"HERE SHE IS!" said the Doctor, practically skipping to the vehicle parked at the end of the row. He thumped a hand proudly on the faded blue bonnet of said automobile and said, "Isn’t she a _beaut_! They don’t make ‘em like this anymore, Rose, you’re looking at an antique! Near mint condition - don’t let the paint job fool you - she runs like an absolute dream!”

"Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it." Rose said, feeling her stomach sink and her anxiety increasing tenfold. "Except in pictures and films, maybe."

It was the night of the Vitex corporate gala, black-tie, VIP invitation only. The Doctor had happily accepted Rose’s invitation and had even more happily offered to escort her to the venue via personal means of transport, when she’d mentioned sharing a cab because her car was in the shop getting looked at. She hadn’t really known what to expect, had never even really thought about the Doctor driving, or what sort of car he might drive, but now… _now_ she knew.

"A 1959 Ford Anglia Deluxe!"

"What? Like from Harry Potter? Does she fly, then?" It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, despite her best efforts. The valet service was going to have a right good ol’ time with this one. She made a mental note to tip well, very well.

The Doctor grinned, but his smile quickly turned into a grimace as he pulled his hand away from the bonnet to find his palm covered in grime and rust. “Could do with a visit to the car wash, but never mind! It’s what’s on the inside that counts!”

Rose peered through the speckled windshield to examine the interior. “You mean all those parking tickets you got there? Doctor, the date on that one says 2001!”

He unlocked the door, scrambled into the driver seat, and plucked the offending piece of paper from the dashboard. He looked at it for a few seconds, crumpled it up, and threw it into the backseat.

"How many penalty points have you got on your license?" Rose demanded, gingerly seizing the handle of the passenger seat door. She settled next to the Doctor, leather seat creaking, and the car seemed to groan with their combined weight. Still, it was surprisingly roomy, much bigger on the inside than it had seemed from the outside. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine revved to life with even worse groaning - it sounded like the thing was alive and wheezing for breath.

"What on earth," said Rose, "Is that thing?"

"Which thing?"

To be fair, there were several things dangling from the rear-view mirror. A cluster of totally random objects - including a stuffed banana with a smiley face and googly eyes, a little paper scroll with Chinese characters embroidered on it, and salt-and-pepper shakers - but the object that had caught her eye was a vaguely phallic oblong metal tube with bits protruding from it.

"The glittery thing."

"It’s a torch. It detaches so I can use it in case of emergencies. It’s also a screwdriver, and it has a smoke detector built into it at the base-"

"What, in case your car spontaneously bursts into flames?"

"Better safe than sorry," said the Doctor.

"Can you even see past all that junk?" she asked, sniggering.

"I shan’t dignify that with a response," he said, and pulled into traffic.

Rose was not prepared for the reality of what passed as the Doctor’s driving. They hadn’t gone more than halfway out the parking garage when she started having misgivings, and by the time they were two streets away, Rose was beginning to regret accepting his offer in the first place. How could she have not realised that this would be a complete disaster?

"Never mind the penalty points," she shrieked, "Do you even _have_ a license?”

"Course I have!"

"OK, when was the last time you _actually_ drove, Doctor?”

"Rose, I drive all the time!"

"Somehow I _really_ doubt that-” Rose began to say, but was cut short by virtue of having the breath knocked straight out of her. The car jerked to an abrupt stop at a red light, about a foot beyond the pedestrian walk.

"Traffic’s quite good for this hour," said the Doctor pleasantly. (It wasn’t.) "It’s lovely, isn’t it, this weather? Warm." (It was disgustingly humid, Rose’s carefully curled hair was starting to frizz in the summer heat.) "I quite like this leather interior, don’t you? I always forget how nice this shade of coral is, the nice man who did the restoration for me didn’t think it would go with the paint colour I chose, but I think turned out fantastic!" (It was actually kind of nice, unexpected, but nice.)

The light turned green. Rose grabbed the hand hold on the side of her door, and gripped her seatbelt, preparing herself to be thrown headfirst through the windshield. The engine wheezed again, in a very distressing manner, and then… nothing. They didn’t move. Not an inch.

"Huh," said the Doctor, looking perplexed.

"What?"

"Something’s wrong with the petrol meter," he said, shoving a hand into his hair. "Why has it gone all the way to the left?"

"You’re joking, right?"

They were only about, oh, forty-five minutes late in the end. It took ages to push the Ford Anglia out of the lane into a side street. The Doctor said it would be fine, he’d come around and drive her back to the parking garage tomorrow, but Rose thought it was likely that 1) he’d forget all about it or 2) he’d forget there was no petrol in the tank, or 3) someone would get it towed and that would be the last they’d ever see of the poor old thing. She almost felt sorry for it.

"I’m driving, next time," she said, clutching her skirt in one fist, and trying to walk as fast as she could in a very pretty and very impractical pair of heels.

Striding alongside her, the Doctor wasn’t even breaking a sweat in his tuxedo. She’d been struck mute by the sight of him in it when she arrived at the Pond’s flat, where he’d been playing Angry Birds on Rory’s laptop whilst waiting for her. He looked good in it - better than good, actually - like a skinny, nerdy James Bond in specs. The illusion had lasted until he saw her and leapt to his feet, tripping over Ducky in the process and stumbling headlong into the coffee table.

(“You sure you want to take him to this fancy shindig? I can loan you Rory for the night. He can dance without falling all over himself. Mostly.”

"Oh, thanks."

"Not a dancing kind of party," Rose had said whilst grimly escorting the Doctor out the door.

"Oh, don’t leave yet! Let me take a picture of you two! It’s like we’re parents sending our children off to prom! Rory, where’s my phone?")

"Nice tux," she said now, allowing herself a moment to admire him in his finery. His hair was mussed from repeated tugging by his own fingers, and the colour in his cheeks high from the exercise of walking. It was a good distraction from the knot of unease that was growing in her stomach.

"Thanks! Don’t like to wear it much."

"Why not?"

"It’s unlucky."

She should have taken him seriously.

 

* * *

 

Rose was out of breath by the time they arrived. The Doctor was all smiles and anticipation. It was a lark to him, of course it was, going to a fancy party and eating all the nibbles and hobnobbing with people who would be inevitably impressed, charmed and exasperated by him all at once, in that order. Rose, on the other hand, was dreading the entire thing, but the tension and drama of the journey had lessened her nerves about the night ahead in an odd sort of way, leaving her feeling strangely relieved.

Maybe it was simply because of the Doctor’s presence. He had a weird calming effect on her. No matter what happened, he would be right there. She didn’t have to worry about not having anyone to talk to, and as Amy had pointed out, he was really good arm candy when he wasn’t saying weird things, plus she already knew her father approved of him.

And on that note…

"Doctor, you should know - my dad is mad about you," Rose said, pausing abruptly at the entrance of the posh hotel to give the Doctor fair warning of what he was going to have to face tonight - "If you had a fanclub, he’d be the leader. If he were a teenage girl, he’d have posters of you on his bedroom walls." She paused to draw breath, "If-"

The Doctor held up a hand. “Say no more. I understand completely. He’s a fan of the sciences.”

"Are you kidding me? He’s happier about you coming tonight than he is about the rest of the guest list, which includes the bloody Prime Minister of England!" She didn’t add that the Prime Minister’s people had RSVP’ed with a polite, previously-engaged, _sorry, no-can-do_.

"Oh." He absorbed this for a moment. "That’s nice. I like your father better than the Prime Minister too, though I haven’t met him so that could be a premature statement. For all I know we might hit it off tonight!"

"Whatever," said Rose, adjusting the neckline of her dress nervously - the same dress she’d worn to the Pond’s wedding. Though she’d had it carefully cleaned and pressed after the sprinklers, there was some shrinkage in the bust. Still, it was the nicest dress she owned, made of a flattering shade of gold satin fabric, with a long skirt that hit the floor even when paired with designer heels. The surplice neckline draped across her modest B-cups and gave the illusion of cleavage. In short, Rose loved this dress and didn’t want to give it up.

"Don’t be nervous," she said, absently reaching out to brush a piece of lint off his sleeve. She glanced at him but he looked away, focusing his gaze abruptly overhead at the elaborate archway of the oak doors in front of them.

"I’m not nervous."

"Good. Nothing to be nervous about. Your bow-tie’s crooked, by the way."

He straightened it, making it worse, as they made their way inside. It soon became obvious that Rose had been worried about the Doctor having to deal with the wrong parent. Dad was absolutely over the moon. Mum, on the other hand…

The second Jackie Tyler clapped eyes on the Doctor, Rose knew there would be trouble. It was clear she’d been anticipating meeting him - Dad must have talked him up something fierce because the look on her mum’s face was decidedly unimpressed. While Pete shook the Doctor’s hand and introduced him to various members of his elite research and development team, Jackie pulled Rose aside.

"Does he always wear those glasses?"

"Mum!"

"What? I’m just asking," Jackie said, looking him up and down like she was evaluating prize cattle. "What happened to his shoes? Did he lose them along the way or hasn’t he got any proper shoes? Who wears trainers with a tuxedo?"

"Mum, leave him alone."

"Protective, aren’t you?" Jackie gave Rose her patented Mum look, the I-know-exactly-what’s-happening-here’ look. "How long’s this been going on, then?"

"What?"

"How long have you been seeing this Doctor of yours?"

Rose sighed. “He’s not my boyfriend, Mum. He’s just… the Doctor.”

"The way your father talks about him, he sounds more like the second coming of Christ in trainers. Well, I s’pose it doesn’t matter as long as you like him, and he treats you properly. Hair could use a trim, though."

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the Doctor’s hair, in Rose’s opinion, but she kept her feelings on the subject to herself. Jackie looked like she wanted to say more, but was distracted by the arrival of a friend of hers, some politician’s wife.

"Blimey," said the Doctor, escaping Pete’s clutches just in time to save Rose from having to join her mother. "This is all rather posh. The waiters are wearing tuxes! Someone thought I was one of them and asked me for a bottle of Perrier! At a Vitex party! Bit cheeky."

That made her smile. “Oh, it’s nothing compared to what Mum’s got planned for their wedding anniversary. She couldn’t decide to go with 5th, which is wood, or 25th, which is silver, so we’re going with both.” Seeing the Doctor’s confusion, she began to explain that they’d had a big posh proper wedding five years ago, to celebrate their reunion, but technically they’d been married for five times that long. This was all common knowledge, tabloid fodder, but the Doctor was clearly not the sort to read gossip rags.

"Oh no," she said, losing steam on the story.

"What?"

"Don’t say anything weird," Rose hissed, "Hi Mum!"

Jackie was back, and she had a determined gleam in her eye. “So,” she said, tone deceptively pleasant, “How did you two meet?”

"Amy introduced us. The Doctor is her next door neighbour."

"Really? How is Amy?"

"She’s fine, she’s got a night shoot later or else she’d be here, drinking all the champagne."

The Doctor beamed. “Great party, this! And you look absolutely _lovely_ , Mrs Tyler.”

Apparently when he wanted to, the Doctor could schmooze as well as the next bloke. He started to gush about everything in sight - the music, the hotel decor, the server’s uniforms, until even Jackie couldn’t help but laugh and tell him to stop flattering her and go and help himself at the bar.

"Don’t stand on ceremony, love, you can call me Jackie." She excused herself, citing hostess duties, and went off to mingle with some other guests.

"Now," said the Doctor, settling his palm on the curve of Rose’s spine, ignoring her astonished stare, "Let’s have some nibbles!"

"Did you just brainwash my Mum with compliments?"

"It’s not difficult. Mums love me." That remark had Rose staring even harder, at least until he added, "I return lost children to them all the time. It comes with the territory."

 

* * *

 

"Rose!" called out a familiar voice, halting the Doctor mid-speech as he explained the origins of _vol au vents_ \- “That’s the french word for “windblown”, actually, to describe the lightness of the pastry. Most people credit the name to Antonin Carême, but as a matter of fact, the phrase pops up in a cookbook by François Marin dated circa 1739, years before Carême was even born, so-“

She turned and smiled. “Hi!”

Adam Mitchell, the youngest member of her father’s elite R&D team approached them, looking smart in an expensively cut designer suit. He had the sort of face that would look boyish until well into adulthood, much like the Doctor. Their personalities, however, couldn’t be more different. Adam took himself seriously and wanted the rest of the world to take him seriously, too, so he compensated for his youthful looks by affecting a certain gravitas that bordered on pompous. It hadn’t made him many friends, and Rose felt a little bit sorry for him. He’d always been really nice to her - during her first week at Vitex she’d somehow managed to get lost (strange how that kept happening) in the basement of the R&D building. Adam had been working in one of the labs and had very graciously directed her to the right office. Two weeks later, coming out of a meeting, he’d helped her fix a photocopier and brought her a coffee. Several times, in fact, over the last few months. Nothing had really come of it, though. He was cute and Rose liked him, but somehow it just never felt like the timing was right.

Rose introduced Adam to the Doctor, listing his credentials (which he had painstakingly detailed to her, over the the course of several coffees) and they shook hands. Then she said, “This is the Doctor. He’s an expert in the field of Chemical Biology.”

Rose paused, trying to recall what else she knew about his research and coming up nil. That was probably due to the fact that she zoned out every time her father started banging on about it.

She couldn’t very well say what she did know: _He works at the London Science Museum, is a part-time Guest Services volunteer, knows where all the best places to eat are within the city, doesn’t like cats and really likes bananas. He conducts dangerous experiments at home, wears converse with everything, has the attention span of a gnat, and we apparently have so much chemistry between us we could generate enough electricity to power a city block._

Both men were looking at her expectantly, so Rose cleared her throat and finished with, “He’s a genius, and he’s my friend.”

The Doctor grinned like she’d given the right answer to a prize question. “Yup! Sums me up perfectly.”

"Doctor John Smith?" Adam put two and two together. " _The_ Dr. John Smith?”

Rose wondered if her Dad’s crush on the Doctor was catching, or if this was just a thing with science-type blokes. She’d dated a pop star once and he’d not had as many accolades as the Doctor was getting.

"You’re not how I imagined you," said Adam, slowly. "You’re a lot… younger than I thought you’d be."

More pleasantries were exchanged. Sort of. Adam seemed agitated for some reason by the Doctor, who in turn seemed rather taciturn with his responses. It was odd behaviour from him, the man who was perpetually cheerful, ever-engaging, eager to befriend almost anybody. Except for Adam Mitchell, it seemed.

"Honours, Yale," said Adam. "You?"

"Oxford. I have several masters degrees," the Doctor replied casually, glancing at Rose and then back to the other man, almost as though to make certain she was listening. "Two doctorates."

"Just two?" muttered Adam, so softly that it was only by virtue of standing right next to him that Rose alone could hear.

"Would’ve sat for my third, but the U.N. came knocking that year and I couldn’t say no, could I?" The Doctor had heard. Sharp ears, ‘course he’d heard. He shrugged and looked modest, which was such a load of crock Rose almost snickered. She almost got testosterone poisoning, the air was so thick with the stuff. The conversation got even more loaded with antagonism, and Rose realised she might have a situation on her hands soon if it got any worse. Wouldn’t that be _just_ what she needed with all of Vitex present: a fight between the _one_ person at work who liked her, and her… her friend, the Doctor. She’d be water cooler talk for _weeks_. Rose was trying to think of a way to separate them, maybe she could lure the Doctor away with a fancy canapé or something, when her father suddenly came into view, making his way towards them. He looked pleased to see his daughter, his hero, and his most promising employee networking (or coming to blows, more like).

Adam’s smile was not quite sincere, but he’d spotted Pete as well, and this time his voice was clearly audible. “Wow. Impressive, Doctor. What about you, Rose?”

She scrambled to remember what they were showing each other up about. Oh. Right.

"I’m still working on my undergrad," said Rose, forcing a smile. Adam looked surprised - she’d never told him that, she realised. They’d only ever talked about him - his work, his research, what he liked to do in his spare time.

Her father said, “Rose is taking a semester off,” (it was going on three semesters now) “-to work at Vitex. Shadowing her old man, learning how business works from the inside. Nothing like real experience.” (Pushing papers, ordering business grade staples for their high density business grade staplers, the important stuff.)

Pete’s tone was pleasant but held a note of steel in it. Which meant no one who cared to stay on his good side would dare to argue. The people standing around him all nodded, agreeing and spouting platitudes in Rose’s direction. But she knew that inside they were all thinking the same thing: how on earth could the big boss entertain the notion of passing on his hard-earned empire to a council-raised drop-out?

Determined to keep attention to himself, Adam began to outline his latest project, delivering a lecture that grew increasingly complicated and was chock-full of technical jargon that Rose didn’t understand. The Doctor listened intently for several minutes, allowing Adam to get to a sort of climatic volume before interrupting with a dash of verbal cold water.

"That’s all well and good, but I think you’ve missed something. Reckon there’s an inherent flaw in your methodology-"

Adam’s jaw clenched. He spoke over the Doctor, cutting him off to ask Rose for her opinion. She could feel at least ten pairs of eyes fix themselves onto her. Her mind went terribly blank and she was acutely aware of the smirks that grew on several faces as she failed to answer.

The Doctor stepped in, his voice full of authority. “You can’t possibly expect Rose to make a prediction based on such scarce findings!” He scoffed, laying his hand on Rose’s arm, sending a sharp snap of static along her arm. “I never confirm my hypothesis before I have proof, I find that keeps me from looking a fool, and it’s a good motto to have, trust me, I should know!” He winked, and began to tell a long, ridiculous story about an experiment gone horribly wrong that had Pete and several other scientists within hearing distance laughing out loud. Adam excused himself with barely suppressed irritation, and Rose almost wished she could do the same. When they were alone again, the Doctor smiled down at her. “Full of himself, isn’t he? His ideas aren’t bad, don’t get me wrong, but they’re a bit simplistic.”

"Simplistic," repeated Rose. She hadn’t understood a word.

"Yeah," said the Doctor, accepting an appetizer from a server passing by with a platter. "He’s inexperienced and impatient, wants to take shortcuts, I’ve seen it before. Everyone listening back there knows the methodology won’t wash."

"Mhm," said Rose, taking a deep swallow from her wine glass.

"His predicted outcome is too far-fetched for what he’s got planned, that’s the problem. It’ll obviously take multiple tries to even come close to the results he wants-"

"If you say so."

"Oh, it’s far from being as complicated as he wanted it to seem," the Doctor said, eager to explain, "I’ll break it down into basics, he’s trying to-"

She really didn’t want to listen to this anymore. A throbbing headache was starting to set in at the back of her head, and perhaps it was because of the tension gathering at the base of her neck that made her snap, “You don’t have to dumb things down for me, Doctor. I don’t care.”

The Doctor blinked, his smile slipping. “Oh. Sorry.” There was a pause, as he cleared his throat. “Have I been talking too much? Sorry, I-“

"No- you’re not- I just have a headache," Rose said, tone softening. She shook her head at the spurned expression on his face, a pang of guilt passing through her at the sight. Great. She’d hurt his feelings now. "Right. Sorry. I’ve- I’ve just got to pop to the loo for a sec. Be right back." She walked off before he could reply, stomach churning.

 

* * *

 

The sound of shuffling footsteps made Rose cringe. She pushed away from the wall, tottering unsteadily, and then felt fingers on her wrist followed by a static shock that made her gasp, both with surprise and relief.

"Sorry," said the Doctor, sliding his hand from her pulse to her palm. Their fingers intertwined naturally. He squeezed. "Rose? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, "Fine! Why are you skulking about the ladie’s room?"

"Waiting for you." He peered at her, brow lifted in concern. "You’ve been a long time. How’s your head feel?"

"Better," she mumbled. "I had some paracetamol in my clutch."

"I’m glad."

"Yeah."

He held out his hand. Rose took it, slowly, barely registering the crackle, and let him guide her back to the party. She frowned. He was leading her towards the bank of lifts at the end of the foyer.

"Doctor, the hall’s that way."

He pressed the button for the lift. “I know.”

"Okay?"

He looked at her out of the corner of one eye. “Some friend I’d be, taking you out there when you clearly don’t want to go back.”

They took the lift up five floors. Rose was mystified as she followed him out into a long, posh corridor. They stopped in front of a door, room 510. The Doctor lifted a little blue and silver card, a tiny smile on his lips. “Got this from the front desk.”

Rose stared at him. “You’ve rented a room?”

"Yep."

"Seriously?"

"Yep," he said again, popping the p.

"Why?"

"Couldn’t have you hiding out in the loo all night." He swiped the key, and pushed the door open. Nudging her gently with an elbow, "Go on."

If it were anyone else but the Doctor, she’d be on alert and scornful. But it was the Doctor, and she knew him too well to think his motives were anything but pure. He probably hadn’t thought of the implications of renting a hotel room and inviting a woman up to it; but he didn’t need to because she knew better. He was simply providing her with a temporary bolt-hole, and an expensive one at that.

The room was just as posh as the hallway, decorated in neutrals, with an adjoining bathroom suite. A fully decked out king-sized bed took prominent place in the center of the room, drawing the eye to crisp linens in a higher thread count than was probably necessary. Nothing was going to happen, but Rose blushed anyway.

The Doctor settled on the bed, crossing his legs. He patted the empty space next to him. Rose sat gingerly, and kicked off her heels.

"I’m sorry," he said.

"Don’t be," she said quickly. "You haven’t done anything wrong."

He nodded, but she could see hints of relief in his eyes, in the way his brow smoothed ever-so-slightly, and the release of tension in his shoulders. That feeling of guilt from earlier came back again. She’d been unfair, taking her frustrations out on him, and an apology was in order. But it wasn’t easy to open her mouth and voice one, even though he deserved it. He didn’t push or pry, either, he didn’t ask for any sort of clarification at all, and somehow that made her want to explain even more - to make him understand her insecurities and how they’d been triggered earlier. Because he _would_ understand, a gut feeling told her.

"Sorry," she said, forcing the words out. "I just- felt stupid, I suppose. It’s stupid, really, I’m being ridiculous, I know, but I-" The Doctor seemed like he was about to say something, but Rose cut him off, not wanting to hear reassurances from him. "I’m not a genius like you are. Just average. I dropped out of school when I was sixteen, and let’s just say I wasn’t top of the class, either. Didn’t matter, at the time, really, it was just Mum and me, and school wasn’t doing me any good. So I thought, anyway. But now…"

She told him the story, without really intending to. It just somehow started pouring out of her, and then she couldn’t stop, couldn’t close her mouth to keep the words from coming out.

Her parents had met young, fallen hard, and married despite objection from Jackie’s family. Young Pete had been full of dreams and far fetched ideas and hadn’t two pence to rub together. In the end, Jackie’s wide-eyed faith in romance lost out to her Prentice practicality and they parted ways, bitterly and without closure. Jackie discovered several months later that she was pregnant and by then it was too late to tell Pete. He had gathered what meagre savings he had - the money he’d silently meant to spend as down payment on a mortgage - and left England to seek his fortune. Grandpa Prentice had been furious and vindicated at once, and told Jackie any grandchild of his was better served growing up under his roof than that of the wicked miscreant that was her father.

Rose didn’t have many memories of Grandpa Prentice. He’d died shortly after her second birthday of heart failure, leaving the Tyler women to fend for themselves.

A decade later, Pete had turned his circumstances around and begun a small business venture selling a health drink he’d invented. Vitex grew and grew and suddenly, almost overnight, Rose’s father became a self-made millionaire. The company had fingers in every pie, becoming the conglomerate it was today.

While Jackie wrestled tight-lipped with the ironic turnabout of their lives, fourteen year old Rose was resolute. She knew she had a father, she knew who he was, where he was, and she was a scrappy teenager with far more resourcefulness than she got credit for.

"I snuck into a gala event at his mansion one night," she told the Doctor, who had listened to the story without interruption thus far. "Stupid, really, I shouldn’t have made it a foot past the door but I was tall for my age and I’d dressed like one of the staff."

She’d found Pete eventually, and lingered by his side, holding a heavy tray of tiny bits of food that she hadn’t understood at the time. Rich people were mystery. Pete had warmed to her, like she’d known he would, like her every fantasy of finding her father had played out in her childish dreams, and when she’d snuck into his private office without his permission and told him who she was - well, she hadn’t been prepared for his reaction. She hadn’t expected the disbelief and cold rejection and stony anger. She hadn’t expected to be escorted from the premises with a threat of lawyers and restraining orders.

She’d gone home, stunned. Her shock turned into rage and disillusionment and she’d kept it all locked inside. Rose Tyler did not have a father. Not one who wanted her. It was her most shameful secret, one that festered for years in her soul, unbeknownst to her mother.

Then, when Rose was seventeen, Pete Tyler came back into their lives, having discovered that Jackie Tyler, his ex-wife (legally _still_ his wife, they later found out) was yet residing in London and that she lived in the Powell Estate with her only daughter. He was able to do the math.

"Mum still doesn’t know what I did," said Rose. She still couldn’t think of that night without feeling terribly vulnerable, the trauma never truly erased despite the intervening years. Pete had apologized, explained himself, and Rose had forgiven him. He had done everything possible to make their relationship a proper father-daughter one, and she loved him a lot for it.

"Did he ask you not to tell?"

Rose shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. I just- I’d rather not, you know- I’ve just never told anyone that before.” Relief and terror mingled unpleasantly in her stomach. She couldn’t quite believe she had poured out her soul to the Doctor, had let him in on the secret.

Sometime during the telling they’d both laid down, stretched out along the length of the bed with Rose staring at the ceiling and the Doctor’s gaze focused on her face. It had been easier to speak without looking at him.

"Dad really loves me now," she said hurriedly, in case he got the wrong impression, immediately cringing as the words came out. She turned to face him as her voice rose in pitch, hitting an unfortunately semi-hysterical note. "I mean, he’s really accepted me. On my twentieth birthday, he changed his will, he’s going to leave everything to me. I’m going to be the CEO of Vitex. Me! Rose Tyler from the Powell Estate! It’s ridiculous!"

The Doctor’s eyes flicked from her fidgeting hands, plucking at the bedspread, to her face. “I think you’re brilliant, and Pete’s lucky to have you.”

She accepted the comforting words, but they didn’t quite penetrate her soul, weren’t convincing enough to find a crack in her insecurities and lodge themselves there to fill the void. But he meant them and Rose could appreciate that. Neither of them spoke, though the look in the Doctor’s eyes spoke volumes. It wasn’t pity. She was glad about that.

"Sorry," she said, at last. "I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me."

"Why not? I’m having a grand time!"

"Hardly."

"Nothing I’d rather be doing," he said, with such vehemence she had no choice but to believe he truly meant it. "Weelll. That’s a bit of a lie. I’d rather be eating chips. Or visiting Barcelona and petting some dogs on the beach. But I’d take you with me. You’d love it, even if you are a cat person."

"Thanks," Rose said, tilting her head so she could look into his face. A warmth swelled in her stomach, and she was so full of fondness and affection for him it felt like it would overflow and spill out of her. "I’m glad I listened to my dad, after all, and invited you tonight."

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a disquieting flash of emotion in his eyes - something distant and vague. Then it was snuffed out, the Doctor’s usual cheerfulness overtaking his features once more.

He rolled over suddenly, sitting up, and said with relish, “Let’s call room service! They were bringing out new trays when I left - little cupcake things with edible ball bearings! D’you think they’ll deliver them up here if we ask nicely?”


	5. Friction

*

"GOOD MORNING," said a voice.

Rose cringed away from it, trying to crawl back into the blissful state of unconsciousness that she had been existing in before the voice. Something nudged her shoulder, a highly objectionable occurrence. Her response was to keep her eyes screwed shut against the resulting  throbbing of her head and to pull the covers more tightly over it.

"Rose?"

"Shhh."

"Sorry." There was shuffling. The bed dipped slightly. "Rose."

"Shhh!"

Momentary peace reigned, but it didn’t last.

"Sorry," the voice said, choosing to be irritatingly persistent. At least it had the decency to whisper this time. "But, Rose-" it sounded decidedly perplexed, "You don’t happen to know where my shirt went…?"

Several solid minutes went by before the question fully sank into Rose’s incapacitated brain. She recognized that voice. Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

"My shirt. It appears to have mysteriously vanished and I can’t find it anywhere."

With a feeling of dread, Rose lowered the quilt just far enough to peek over it. The Doctor was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, staring back at her. She blinked.

He was in his boxers. _Just_ his boxers.

"Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?" she asked hoarsely, wondering if this was a dream. Did that make it any better, though? Dreaming about the Doctor naked was probably just as bad, and likely more pathetic as well. And then he opened his mouth to speak, and Rose knew: Yes. _Bad_.

"I don’t know. I s’pose I took them off. To go to sleep." He scratched his head, blinking. "Are you wearing clothes?"

Oh god. Was she? Rose lifted the coverlet quickly, peering under it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, she was still wearing her dress, the gold silk wrinkled beyond any hope of restoration. Who was she kidding, though? It was the Doctor. Though his current state of undress might suggest otherwise, Rose was 100% certain there was no way in hell he’d try to take advantage of an inebriated woman. Of course nothing had happened.

She pushed the covers off, a sudden urgent need making itself known. The Doctor coughed, awkwardly, and looked at his feet as Rose dragged herself out of bed and staggered into the loo. Something crinkled under her bare foot along the way, but she barely noticed.

In the light of morning she felt vulnerable and uncertain about what had transpired between them - the bits she could remember, anyway. Last night had been cathartic, but baring one’s soul to another person was always as terrifying as taking a leap off a cliff, and Rose was pretty sure she had crash landed into uncharted territory.

She scrubbed her face clean of smudged makeup at the sink and used the complimentary hotel mouthwash. It went a long way towards making her feel more human, giving her the strength to return and face the Doctor.

He was sitting primly on the bed, still shirtless, but he’d found his trousers and was now wearing them. To Rose’s distress, it only served to make his toplessness more apparent. She told herself to look away, because it was totally rude to stare, absolutely rude, he was her friend and not a piece of meat to be ogled - but god, it was hard. Her eyes were inexorably drawn to his chest, which was as surprisingly hairy as it was defined. She had the vague memory of lying on that chest last night, but she couldn’t remember now if it had been covered in a shirt or not. Christ, she needed some water. Her mouth felt like the sahara desert.

"I think we had a party," said the Doctor, looking at the state of the room. The thing she’d stepped on was a discarded cupcake wrapper. The floor around the bed was littered with them, along with open crisp packets and several empty bottles of tequila.

"Yeah," Rose croaked, deadpan. "I think we did." She paused. "Do you remember anything after going back to get the cupcakes?"

That part she could recall: The hotel concierge had been very apologetic over the phone - informing the Doctor that the little cupcakes he so desired weren’t products from the hotel kitchens but an item from a privately catered event, and as such it was impossible for them to be included in the room service. Very disappointing.

Rose also recalled saying - _I’ll have to make an appearance before the end of the night anyway, so let’s go and steal some. Everything after that, though, was a decided blur._

The Doctor said, slowly, “I ordered the crisps. And you wanted something to drink, so-” The tequila, of course.

"Did I drink all of that by myself?" Rose asked, in a horrified whisper. Because she felt like murder warmed over and thought she might have.

"No." The Doctor winced. "I’m pretty sure I drank, too. Is that why, Rose?"

"Why what?"

"Why Athena’s trying to split my head open with an axe so she can spring out of my skull, fully formed?"

She couldn’t find her purse. The cure was inside it. Drugs. “Shift over,” she said with her last bit of energy, and collapsed onto the bed.

The Doctor looked down at her - from this angle she could see the finely dotted stubble on his jaw and though death seemed imminent, she couldn’t help but wonder what that stubble would feel like it she touched it. Or if it touched her. Maybe it already had. Her stomach twisted, a little, which could’ve just been nausea but also something else more worrying. She decided it would be better to just curb that train of thought right there.

He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. It looked painful and she wanted to rub it away for him. “I think we watched telly, but they didn’t have any Elvis films on demand. Reckon we watched Top Gear, eventually. You threw crisps at the tv.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You have a good throwing arm.”

Despite everything, Rose couldn’t help but  smile back, if a bit weakly. He’d been incredibly kind and still was. Even now he looked at her with some measure of concern, and asked, “How d’you feel?”

"Not so good. S’all a bit woozy. But that probably just means I had a really good time last night. So thanks for that."

"You alright?"

"Nothing painkillers and coffee can’t cure," she said. If only we had some, she thought yearningly.

The phone on the table beside the bed started to ring, making Rose moan with agony. The Doctor picked it up immediately, which was very considerate of him, and she heard him say, “Yes, of course, just a mo-” He looked at Rose, and said, “It’s the concierge-“

Oh fucking hell. Time to clear out. The Doctor hung up and they went on a renewed search for his missing shirt with very little luck. It was literally gone, and Rose’s clutch - along with her paracetamol, blast it - had disappeared too.

"We’re forgetting something else," she said, frustrated on all fronts.

"What?"

"I don’t know," Rose fretted. "Something important. I can’t remember, though."

A buzzing sound started emanating from the covers, and the Doctor jumped, startled. He lifted the rumpled sheets he’d been sitting on- “Ah, sorry, I was sitting on your phone.”

Rose took it from him, the vibration proving too much for her nerveless hands. She fumbled with it clumsily, and saw that she had a slew of unread messages. All from… Mum. She paled and shakily scrolled through them, all her worst fears confirmed.

_Don’t rush yourself, sweetheart, we shan’t do brunch until 11 at the house. Tell your Doctor not to bring anything but himself. Mum, xxx._

_Darling, could you give us a ring before you head out? Mum xxx._

_Why aren’t you replying to my messages? Mum xxx._

_Rose, sweetheart, your father’s getting antsy. Is the Doctor busy? Mum xx._

_It’s half past one! What’s keeping the two of you??? Mum x._

Snippets of a rushed conversation with Pete came flooding back to Rose.

"What?" the Doctor asked, seeing her face contort.

"You’re invited to brunch. At my parent’s."

"Oh," He perked up. "Really? Actually, I _am_ starting to feel rather peckish, could do with a bit of-“

Rose cut him off. “That was two hours ago. Anyway, you’re not going.”

His face fell. “But I’d love to come to brunch!”

"You can’t," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because they’ll get the wrong idea."

"Oh."

"And you don’t have a shirt."

"Oh." The Doctor looked down at himself. "Right. Right." Then he brightened visibly and sat up, snapping his fingers in excitement. "I know! We can call Room Service and order one!"

 

* * *

 

"Sorry, Mum," Rose said into her mobile, feeling very sorry indeed. "The Doctor had to work. Yes. It was very important. He’s- he’s on the verge of an important discovery. No, don’t put Dad on. Just tell him - just tell Dad the Doctor says he’s very sorry and he really wanted to have brunch with us-" Here she glanced up to see the Doctor nodding vigorously, and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I- I had an emergency myself. No, I’m fine, it’s resolved. Yes, I’m sure. Mum, stop nagging." She grabbed the hem of the Doctor’s _Le Meridien Piccadilly_ souvenir t-shirt as he started to wander away, distracted by something in the window of a nearby shop. “I know, and I’m sorry that Dad was very disappointed.”

Her companion made a face at that, but the guilty feeling Rose was having completely outweighed his. Jackie was laying it on as thick as she could. They were standing outside the hotel, waiting for their taxi. Rose was sweating under the Doctor’s tux jacket - which she was wearing over her rather flashy evening gown - and their mismatched gear was earning them some curious looks from passersby.

"Unbelievable!" The Doctor exclaimed, suddenly, _loudly_ , “Rose, look across the street! All day breakfast crepes! What a discovery, did you know that was here? Blimey, I’m bloody starving!”

She winced and pulled her mobile away from her ear as Jackie’s voice grew in volume and shrillness. Giving the Doctor a death glare, Rose said, “Yes Mum. It’s the Doctor. He’s- he’s finished work. Yes we’re together right now. No, I don’t think-” She sighed, and with great reluctance held the phone out to him. “It’s my mum. She wants to speak to you.”

The Doctor looked curiously surprised. “Hello? Jackie? I’m fine, thanks. How are you? I do apologize about brunch. Yes, I’m free. Oh, that sounds lovely. Absolutely. Thank you very much!” He handed the phone back, oblivious to Rose’s intensified death glare.

"Okay," she said, seething. "See you at dinner, Mum."

 

* * *

 

The Doctor said, for the seventeenth time, “Rose, it would have been terribly rude to say no! Especially after missing Brunch-“

To his credit, he’d paid for crepes, coffee, as well as spending the entire afternoon affecting a wounded puppy demeanor in the face of Rose’s anger. He didn’t understand why she was so upset, but Rose felt waking up with a hangover as bad as hers entitled her to some unreasonable behaviour, so she stuck stubbornly to her bad mood. She’d just wanted to go home to her flat, soak in the tub for an hour or two, and crash until Monday morning. Was that too much to ask?

Clearly alcohol didn’t have the same affect on him as it did her. He was practically bouncing off the walls, though that might have something to do with the mound of crepes and whipped cream he’d consumed earlier. The memory made Rose feel a little sick. She’d only managed some toast and coffee, and the thought of having to eat again made her stomach queasier than ever.

They parted ways, going home to change into clean clothes and to make themselves presentable. The Doctor looked fully restored, unlike Rose, who was still pale and dehydrated and feeling like death. This only made her more cross with him.

By seven o’clock they were both standing on her parent’s doorstep. The Doctor turned to face her.

"Rose," he said, and something in his voice made her stop and listen. "I just wanted to say-"

"What?"

He looked oddly vulnerable, a little bit bashful, words she would never have used to describe him up until this moment - but sincere as always.

"I had fun." He shifted his weight, from one foot to the other, and shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. "Today, and yesterday, too. Spending time with you."

They regarded each other quietly for a moment.

"Yeah," she said, finally, and made a face. "I did, too. Even if I can’t remember all of it."

That earned her a grin, and the warm feeling that pooled in her stomach was quite effective in easing her feeling of doom. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged. “Thanks. For last night. For everything.”

He hugged back, stroking her back with his hand. Electricity followed his touch, raising tiny goosebumps on her flesh, beneath her blouse.

"Anytime."

She was being silly, perhaps - it was just dinner, after all. “I’m sorry, in advance.”

"What for?"

"For this. In case they make you uncomfortable. They’re… you know. Mum means well. And Dad just adores you, full stop." _Please don’t be scared off, or embarrassed, or go all weird on me, because of this._ “Just… don’t take anything they say the wrong way, okay?”

"The wrong way?"

"You know," she said, shrugging. When he only looked back at her, his expression clueless but earnest, she sighed. "Just be your usual charming self, alright?"

He pulled back and winked. “I’ll try my best.”

 

* * *

 

"You’d be right at home at Vitex," Pete said halfway through the meal, without even the air of pretense. He was in full-on recruit mode, his food growing cold on his plate. No one ever got to be a multi-millionaire by mincing words, though, did they? "Top of the line laboratory at the tip of your fingers, an unlimited budget, all the resources you could ever want!"

The Doctor was very polite and long-winded in response: He said no. But he was very charming as he did it, and with such good-naturedness that Pete could not be offended.

"Enough about Vitex," said Jackie, "Come on, Pete, let the poor Doctor eat in peace! Tell us about more yourself, love."

"Oh, there isn’t much to tell," the Doctor said modestly. "I’m a very simple fellow."

"Are you from London? Your profile is pretty bare, Doctor, for someone with your reputation."

"I was born in Scotland," the Doctor said, much to Rose’s surprise. "I moved to London when I was little, to go to school here."

"Your parents must have been very proud," said Jackie, with a smile. "Do you see your family often?"

The Doctor shook his head. “No family,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

Rose looked up, sharply. Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was a stillness to his smile that made her feel certain he was not quite as complacent with the loss as he appeared to be on the surface. She’d never asked about his family. Nor had she ever stopped to wonder what sort of people would have raised a son like him - but surely they must have been wonderful, eccentric, intelligent people, to be his parents.

Pete cleared his throat, and exchanged a glance with his wife, who quickly changed tactics.

Jackie said, teasingly, “And what about a girlfriend?”

Rose cringed. She’d known this would happen. “Mum-“

They were getting ideas - god, they most certainly already had ideas, wrong ones. She’d have to do something about that, soon, before Jackie started planning out church nuptials and seating arrangements.

But the Doctor only had a friendly look of bafflement on his face, completely unaware of the subtext.

"A girlfriend," he repeated, as if he didn’t understand the meaning of the word. "Er- no, I haven’t got one. Not really one for that sort of thing." He shrugged, oblivious to the way Jackie’s eyes slid from him to Rose. "I tend to focus on my work."

"You’ve got a lot to focus on," said Pete approvingly, and proceeded to shoot question after question at him. The Doctor started on a long rambling discussion of his current chemical models and how they might be applied to beneficial health drinks.

Jackie narrowed her eyes, and looked as if she wanted to say something, but Rose gave her a Look. She wisely moved to the next topic, an upcoming Vitex corporate party, something which seemed to always be an event on the horizon. Rose only half listened, looking now and then at the Doctor, who was happily chattering away.

Well, of course he didn’t want a _girlfriend_. She’d known it all along. Amy’s constant hints and teasing had confused her, that was all. It was a good thing he’d gone and said it straight out, because that meant she’d been right in not  allowing herself to become romantically interested in him.

The Doctor didn’t do things the way other people did - if his overtures of friendship seemed to be more than they were, it was simply because he was so enthusiastic about everything. If he said, _I’m not one for that sort of thing_ , well, he meant it. Heck, they’d spent the night together in a hotel room, completely pissed, and nothing had happened. No, the Doctor wasn’t interested in romance or sex.

Which was good. Because Rose wasn’t interested in romance, either, she didn’t need it, she didn’t have _time_ for it-

Fiddling with her glass, she sneaked a glance at her phone to check the actual time. It was almost half past eight, and if she played her cards right, she could find an excuse to leave within the hour. Rose thought yearningly of her bed, and of the tub of ice cream she’d hidden in the back of her freezer, her emergency stash. 

"Regardless, you must come visit our facilities," Pete said, "Take a tour, you might change your mind. Rose would love to be your tour guide, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?"

Rose smiled, and sank further down into her seat. She was suddenly exhausted, all the dashing about of the day finally catching up and taking it’s toll. God, she really wanted to just go back to her flat and bury herself into a pillow.

Her mobile buzzed. A new text appeared on her screen, as if in answer to her prayers. Rose checked it with hopefulness.

The message was from Amy.

_Tell the Doctor to come home. Now._


	6. Proximity

*

THE HOLE, as it were, had been discovered.

Rose hustled the Doctor out of her parent’s house, citing an emergency. This earned her strange looks from them both, until she explained that the Doctor didn’t have a mobile and that Amy had contacted her instead to reach him. That knowledge earned him an even stranger look from Jackie, which soon morphed into a speculative one as she gazed back and forth from him to Rose to her phone. The Doctor put up a struggle but eventually succumbed to Amy’s summons, leaving Rose behind to dine with Pete and Jackie, having no ready excuse to depart herself.

It wasn’t until the following evening down at the pub that Rose got the full story. She’d tried ringing Amy when she got home that night, but neither she nor Rory had picked up.

"There was mould growing in it! Actual mould!"  Amy shuddered over her drink. The pub was busy for a weekday night, and she had to speak up to be heard over the loud family with children seated next to them. "I’ve been breathing in mould spores for god knows how long! We’ve all been kicked out - _the entire building_ \- while they suss out if it’s harmful. Could take a bloody month to get results!”

"A month," repeated Rose.

"Yeah, _a month_. We’re staying with Rory’s parents. Not ideal, to be honest.”

"You could stay with me," she offered. "I’ve got a spare room."

"I’d like to," said Amy with a sigh. "God, I’d really like to, we’re in Rory’s old room and his naft old twin bed is barely big enough for me. My poor husband’s sleeping on the floor. But Brian’s being so nice about it and he keeps insisting we stay as long as we need so I haven’t got the heart to turn him down."

"What about the Doctor?"

"Slept in his lab last night. He’s got no where else to go."

"Oh."

Amy swallowed a mouthful of her pint and fixed Rose with a stare. “That’s it? Just ‘oh’?”

"What?"

"You know what."

She did know, and that was rather the problem.

"He’s very noisy at night," said Amy pointedly. "You’ll need to invest in ear plugs, or a gag, or chloroform. Ask him to cook some up for you. No, don’t, that’s a terrible idea. He’ll ruin your cabinetry."

"Are you trying to convince me to let him stay, or are you arguing against it? Cos I can’t tell anymore."

"God, I don’t know. Both. I feel sorry for him, but I feel worried about you. But I also think this is going to be hilarious and I want to watch it play out. Bit like telly, like one of them nature programmes, the mating rituals of wild undomesticated Springbok, caught on film for the first time-"

"Shut up," she groaned.

 

* * *

 

A day and a half later, the Doctor stood on her doorstep with no suitcase and no luggage, his tie loose, shirt-sleeves rolled up and suit jacket slung over his arm. He’d come straight to her flat from his laboratory, where she knew he had spent the last three uncomfortable nights. He didn’t look any worse for wear from it, though - he was clean-shaven, his hair immaculately coiffed and shirt neatly pressed. In fact she thought he looked rather well put-together for someone who was technically homeless.

The smile he gave her was ill-fitting, too; it belonged to a person who was extremely pleased with life, not someone who had been evicted out of house and home barely 72 hours ago. “Got your message!”

After several hours of internal and external debate (her conscience and Amy had won, on both accounts), she’d decided to let the Doctor stay with her until he found another place. _He’d do the same for you_ , Amy had pointed out, which had made Rose squirm and feel guilty. _The poor bloke’s sleeping on a cot in his office._ Now that he was standing in front of her in all his pinstriped-and-converse-clad glory, though, she was feeling ambivalent about the entire idea - it hadn’t seemed quite real until this moment.

 _Not gonna be a problem_ , she told herself firmly. Because they were mates, the Doctor and Rose, and co-habitation wouldn’t make things awkward. Not at all, because Rose knew where to draw the line, knew how to keep a safe distance between them so that things didn’t get muddled. No more than they already were, anyway. Yes, it would be fine, as long as she kept him away from flammable items and installed safety guards on all the sockets and made sure he was never left unsupervised in the kitchen. Amy’s advice.

"Where’s your stuff?" she asked, eyeing him. He was literally empty-handed.

"Stuff?" Grin faltering, he looked confused for a moment, until his remarkably forgetful, nimble brain caught up with her meaning. "Oh… _right_ , my things. I forgot in the rush, but I’ll bring it round later. Didn’t have time to pick any up.”

"Why not?"

"Didn’t want to keep you waiting. Sorry, we haven’t got a line down in my lab - no reception because of all the equipment frequencies, it mucks up phone signals."

"Yeah, that’s why I figured I’d better give Guest Services a go," said Rose, earning her another grin from the Doctor, a proud one, as if she were a particularly clever child, and he was her teacher. _Professor_ , corrected a voice in her head, _a foxy Professor you’d like to_ -

"You needn’t have rushed," she said quickly - _don’t go there, Tyler_ \- “I mean, what are you going to… are you gonna wear that suit again to work tomorrow?”

"S’pose I’ll have to," he said, as though the thought had not occurred to him. "Done it before. Not a big deal. Anyway I think I have a spare at the office."

Rose wondered what it was like, to be so oblivious to outside influence and rumours. The Doctor would never have to worry about doing the walk of shame. He probably didn’t even know what that meant.

"But what are you going to sleep in?" As soon as the question left her lips, Rose remembered: he didn’t wear clothes to bed. Just boxers. She felt her cheeks go red from the memory, and quickly said, "Nevermind. Let’s go inside."

She led him into her flat, which had been carefully tidied, though not overly so - she didn’t want to seem too fastidious or to make him feel uncomfortable - yet still cleaner than it might typically be.

He looked around admiringly, taking in everything with great enthusiasm. Rose tried to be as chipper as he was, but her nervousness still seemed to creep through at the edges. Oblivious as he was, the Doctor still noticed. Of course he did. He always seemed to be attuned to Rose’s mood. As he was wont to do, when confronted with awkwardness, the babbling began.

"Bit unfair, really," he said, rubbing his neck. "If it hadn’t been for me, we might not have known about the mould for ages - months, years, who knows? It’s early days yet, and no one’s shown any ill symptoms. I’ve saved them from potentially devastating lawsuits. And they refused to let me take a look at it! I could’ve run some tests and save everyone the hassle but the super was too busy being hysterical. Spent all night shouting about health and safety and booting us all out."

"Don’t think they quite see it your way, I’m afraid," said Rose dryly. She gestured at the hall. "The bathroom is the door on your left. I’ve put spare towels on your bed, so you can just dump them in the hamper when you’re done. The plumbing’s old, and hot water runs out fast, so we’ll have to space out our showers-"

"I can always find a hotel," he said, abruptly, interrupting her awkward description of the facilities.

Rose halted mid-action, her hand on the doorknob of the spare bedroom. “What?”

"A hotel." He contemplated the door, just beyond her head, and didn’t meet her startled eyes. "If you want me to. Because… it’s a bother, isn’t it? My staying here."

_Oh._

"D’you want me to?"

Rose struggled to find the right response. He waited, intent, watching her like he sometimes did, like he was trying to decipher hieroglyphs when Rose was pretty certain she was just Pig Latin on a good day, “Would you rather stay at a hotel?”

"No," he said, immediately. "No I would not."

"Then you shouldn’t," she said, simply, and opened the door.

She had a moment of insight then. He’d been afraid, she realised, afraid that she didn’t want him living in close quarters after all. He’d rushed over because he’d thought, _hurry, before Rose changes her mind._

"You can stay as long as you like, you know?" She didn’t realise until later that she’d said ‘like’, and not ‘need’, and the implication of that wasn’t worth losing sleep over. "It’s not a bother at all. I’d… I’d love to have you stay with me. Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t."

"Yeah?"

Fears allayed, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Seeing his shoulders loosen and the tension falling away from him, Rose felt absurdly powerful and glad - that she could make him feel wanted, relieved - and a bit heady - that she held any sort of sway on him at all, when she was determined to keep things simple and straightforward and uncomplicated between them.

Rose nodded. “It’ll be fun.” She knew it would be, no matter what, because it always was with him.

"You’re sure?"

” _Yes_.” Uncertainty lingered in his gaze, so she added, “Tell you what, Doctor, I’ll even loan you some clothes in the morning. I’ve got a pink skirt that’ll show off those long legs of yours to perfection. It’s yours if you stay. Deal?”

"Oh, good," he grinned, finally convinced, "Just what I’ve always wanted!"

 

* * *

 

Living with the Doctor qualified as an adventure, to be sure.

He had odd hours and didn’t seem to hold much stock in whether it was midday or midnight to come bursting into whatever room Rose was currently in with whatever revelation or idea he had on the tip of his tongue.

(“Time is a social construct, Rose Tyler, or so the sociologists keep trying to convince us. Every thing’s a social construct with that lot, but in this instance I happen to think they’re correct - seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t exist in nature, they’re totally arbitrary human concepts, designed to make you think that spending an hour stargazing on the top of a hill two hours outside of London on a weeknight is irresponsible behaviour, but we know better, don’t we? Allons-y!”).

He stopped that once he realised her threats of actual bodily harm if he didn’t stop waking her up at 2AM were not idle. His entreaties were now respectfully delivered within Rose’s waking hours, and he’d learned to knock before barging in. She generally went along with his escapades, except when it infringed upon her rest or the security of her safety deposit.

(“It’s called Home Contents Insurance, Doctor. Look it up.”)

She began to suspect that his brand of madness was contagious, and that she’d begun catching it, because the wildly fantastical things he said to her starting making perfect, perfect sense.

(“Of course there’s alien life out there. A universe that big, endless, going on forever, and ever, and ever? It’s human rubbish, that’s what it is, to think we’re the only ones mucking about in it. There must be millions and millions of planets and galaxies and life forms that we’ll never know or see. Breaks your heart, doesn’t it?”)

Several nights in a row, she came home to find him in the kitchen, cooking something scary and inedible in a giant pot. When questioned, he replied cryptically, “It’s a work in progress.”

The following night she found him staring at his ‘work’ as if it had personally offended him. When she came over to take a look, he quickly covered the pot and carried it over to the bin.

"A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new," the Doctor quoted, flinging the contents away. "Albert Einstein! He knew what he was talking about!"

(Somehow, she got the feeling he wasn’t making food.)

"Do you ever actually go to work?" she asked, after thoroughly cleaning the kitchen with ultra-strength anti-bacterial surface cleaner. The stigma of mould would cling to him forever, like a bad stench. Since he had used all her pots and pans to… do whatever it was he was doing, she’d bought takeaway home for the both of them, along with disposable plates and cutlery. Just to be on the safe side.

"I’m always at work," he said, reaching for the curry and giving Rose a hell of a shock. The takeaway container fell out of her hands, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry." He wrapped both hands around hers and soothed the skin over her knuckles with his fingers. "That hurt quite a bit."

"S’alright," she said, flushing a bit from how close he was standing, fingers stroking gently, carefully.

The Doctor was lost in thought, his concentration fully occupied with contemplating her knuckles in silence. He was quiet for so long Rose’s arm began to tire. Just as she was about to pull away, he slid his fingers between hers, and did something that shocked her yet again, though in a wholly different way: he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the spot he’d electrified. “All better?”

Rose pulled her hand away, skin tingling, and cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

Once the floor was cleaned (he demonstrated a rather startling aptitude for mopping, and revealed that he’d once spent a week filling in for a caretaker during his misspent Uni days - “What? I had a wild youth, too, it wasn’t all books and learning!”) they walked over to a nearby Chippy. The Doctor insisted on paying for the meal and did so with a fifty quid note, clearly showing-off for her benefit. (“Rob an ATM today while I was at work, did ya?”) After polishing off two servings of chips, the Doctor dragged Rose a few doors down to a bakery for dessert. They had profiteroles, crisp and flaky, filled with whipped ice cream and topped with chocolate, which they ate as they headed back home. The Doctor refused to walk anywhere without holding hands, so Rose fed him with her free hand while he held the bag. He kept trying to talk with his mouth full, which was very rude, and dodged her when she tried to stuff bits of pastry into his mouth to rectify his bad manners by shutting him up.

"Serves you right," she said, laughing at how ridiculous he looked with whipped cream smeared all over his chin and nose. "Better than egg tarts?"

"Nah," he replied, sticking his tongue out. "Close, but nah."

"What was that place called? The one we went to before?"

” _Saudade._ " He wiped ineffectually at his chin with his sleeve, which only served to add a streak of chocolate to his face. Rose took pity and used a napkin to finish the job, swiping her thumb over the corner of his mouth to remove a stray crumb.

"Ta." He grinned and licked his lip where her finger had been, making her stomach do a little dip. "Right. _Saudade_. That’s Portuguese, in case you didn’t know.”

"Yeah?"

"Yep! It’s used to describe a melancholic longing or yearning."

"What, for the good ol’ days?"

"No, that’s nostalgia. Very different. Nostalgia is sentimental. It’s yearning for the happiness of a former place or time. On the other  hand, ‘saudade’ is… hrm, how did it go in that book? Oh, yes." He closed his eyes and quoted from memory, “‘A vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present’. Aubrey Bell, 1912. There’s no english equivalent for the word. It’s untranslatable."

"A daydream," Rose said.

"Sort of. Not quite. It’s not as active as a daydream would be. More like… a backdrop. An undercurrent of indolent, dreaming wistfulness that springs up from time to time. You ever get that feeling? Like there’s a life that you could have had, a very different one, with very different things in it."

"I think everyone does," said Rose. "Don’t they? We all wonder about the big fat ‘what if’s of life."

"I suppose."

"What do you yearn for, Doctor?"

"Nothing. Everything. Couldn’t tell you." He gave her that smile, the knowing, faraway one that made him seem older than he was. "That’s what makes it interesting, don’t you think? To be a mystery unto oneself."

She wished he wasn’t quite such a mystery and opted to change the subject - time to move on, or she’d end up frustrated and inadvertently hurt his feelings some way or another. Like a scolded puppy, he moped and then redoubled his efforts to ‘win’ his best friend back, which usually resulted in mayhem. Even so, it was frighteningly easy how quickly they fell into a routine. There were days when his research had him so keyed up he couldn’t sleep and it always made Rose feel bad when she went to bed, leaving him to do whatever it was he did to amuse himself while she slept.

Some nights she came home late, too tired to do much more than watch him buzz about the sink in a t-shirt and trousers, looking cheerfully dishevelled. On one such evening, her curiosity won out. “What _have_ you been making in my kitchen? You’re like a mad scientist.”

"Bath bombs!" he cried, supremely pleased with himself.

"Bath bombs," she repeated. "I’m scared to ask how you know about bath bombs."

"I know plenty," he sniffed. "I know you spend fifty quid a month on them, not that I’m judging you, because I had a go with one of mine and it _is_ fun-“

"How do you- hang on a mo- did you go through my receipts?"

"You left them on the kitchen counter and I accidentally spilled lye on them, sorry about that. But look!" He proudly unveiled the large mixing bowl that was set on the coffee table to reveal approximately twenty or so crumbly balls of various colours, shapes, and sizes. The heady aroma of lavender and bergamot and roses intensified in the air. "You won’t be disappointed, these are fantastic! I should market them! D’you think I should open an Etsy shop? We could sell them out of this flat!"

Rose stared at the bath bombs. “Etsy?”

"It’s an online thing. Shopping. One of the girls at the museum makes jewelry, she’s got an etsy shop. Anyway! Off you go, then." He bounced on his heels, placed both hands on her shoulders with the faintest crackle - his smile widened - and turned her towards the kitchen door.

"Go where?"

"To take a bath! Go on, take these-" The bowl of bath bombs was firmly placed into her arms and once again his hands went to her shoulders, steering her to the bathroom door.

"What? All of them?"

"You need a good long bath," he said, and started to work at the kinks in her neck with his fingertips, manipulating the sore muscles with expert strength, instantly inducing a moan from Rose that bordered on indecent. She blushed, but it only seemed to encourage the Doctor, because he held her still and continued his massage, gliding his hands down her back and stroked firmly until he had her completely relaxed.

"Better?" he asked, and their proximity meant she could feel his breath on her nape. A shiver went down her spine and she thought of the way he’d kissed her hand the week before.

"Y-yeah," she stammered. "Thank you."

She was putty in his hands after that, and allowed herself to be cajoled into testing the bath bombs without resistance. A bath sounded heavenly, and the Doctor was being such a sweetheart, insisting on laying out fluffy towels and a bathrobe while running the water for the tub.

"I owe it to you," he said warmly, "For letting me stay."

It felt odd, to know he was there, hovering on the other side of the door as she stripped her clothes off and sank into the hot bath. But whatever qualms she had melted away as soon as she settled in, and the stress of the day seemed to disappear. Despite her initial trepidation, the bath bombs were fantastic, just as he’d claimed them to be. The Doctor sat with his back against the bathroom door, calling out questions as she dropped the first one into the water.

"Easy peasy to make," he said, his voice muffled by the wood, "Just two primary ingredients, a weak acid and a bicarbonate base, hard-packed. The chemicals effervesce when you add water, that’s the fizzing, it’s the carbon dioxide bubbling on your skin that gives you that tickling sensation - found it very pleasant myself. I played with the proportions in this batch to lengthen the reaction time, it’s not too strong, is it? You like it?"

She splashed and hummed, reporting on the scent (lovely), colour (vibrantly pink) and fizziness level (maximum, truly, of an unmatched caliber never before seen in bath fizzies, and yes, she loved it) of his creation. Rose watched as the very last bit of the ball dissolved into nothing.

"Oh," she said.

"What?"

"It’s fizzed out."

"You sound disappointed."

"Well, there’s nothing inside them."

"What?"

"Sometimes they have little things in," she called back, playing with the glittery water. "Like… I dunno. Little prizes."

"Prizes," he repeated, sounding awed. "In the bath. Blimey, that’s genius." He fell against the door with a thump, and several minutes passed in silence. "Rose?"

She sank further down into the warm, sweetly perfumed water, every muscle relaxed and loose. “Mm?”

"I still did good, didn’t I?"

"Yeah," she replied, closing her eyes. "You did very good."


	7. Static

*

A MONTH came and went. The mould tested benign and was removed, and the Ponds were allowed back into their humble abode without further complication. The Doctor, however, remained a fixture in Rose’s flat, because a certain unforgiving landlord would not relent on his eviction stance. At some point he would need to find new lodgings, he couldn’t exactly stay with Rose _au gratis_ forever, Amy pointed out, because even if the lease was under her parent’s name Rose paid every cent of the rent herself. But she refused to accept any money from him, so the Doctor joked about paying his part in the form of bath bombs (seriously, they were so good, Rose would have gladly accepted these terms) and their arrangement continued, carrying on well into the next month.

"You’re still sleeping in different bedrooms, right?" Amy asked, tucking her legs under her on Rose’s sofa, one eyebrow raised. "He hasn’t crawled into bed with you because the guest bed has a mould infestation or something?"

Rose snorted, but made sure the boys - who were doing the post-dinner washing up in the next room - were too busy making a mess with the Doctor’s self-concocted extra-sudsy dish detergent  to listen in on their conversation. She rolled her eyes. “I keep telling you, he’s not interested in that stuff.”

"Oh please. He’s interested. He’s just slower than molasses, and you’re in denial."

"We’ve slept together before, and nothing happened-"

"WHAT?"

"Slept, I said, just sleeping, alright?"

"When?"

"Ages ago. Nevermind."

"Oh my god," said Amy, looking staggered. She slumped back into her seat, blinking. "I underestimated him, the sneaky bugger. He’s got game! Was there cuddling? I’ll buy the no sex thing, but I’ll bet there was cuddling!"

"We’re just mates."

"Yeah, you’re just mates who live together and  spend way too much time acting like lovey-dovey newlyweds, holdin’ hands everywhere you go, you lookin’ at him like he hung the moon and him staring at you like you’re some kind of neutron-electron-oxygen-whatever beam he can’t get enough of-" Amy snorted. "It’s disgusting, the way you two carry on. Just get it over with, will ya? Do me a favour and get him in bed so I don’t have to feel the waves of unresolved sexual tension wafting off you everytime we’re all in the same room!"

Rose didn’t have a comeback, not one that didn’t sound like denial- _that’s not true!_ or more embarrassingly, like eager hopefulness- _d’you really think so?_ She let a long silence linger, until Amy’s eyes softened, her friend realising that this was genuinely flustering Rose.

"Hey, I’m just teasing," she started to say, but Rose interrupted.

She admitted in a small voice, acknowledging aloud the existense of this.. this _thing_ , this _tension_ , between herself and the Doctor or the first time. “Sometimes… okay, yeah, I think there’s something there. Like something might happen, but…”

"But what?"

But it never did, and Rose wasn’t sure if it was just because he was shy, or if he simply didn’t want a relationship like _that_ with her. He held her hand, yeah, but he never tried anything else, never let his touch linger when they hugged. Nor had she ever caught him looking at her in any sort of way that indicated he was sexually aware of her. They were almost painfully platonic, except… sometimes… not.

"He just… does stuff that can be misleading. Not deliberately, I don’t think. He’s just-"

"Come on," said Amy, a little smirk on her lips. "No one that smart could be that clueless. He’s just waiting for you to make the first move."

Was he? “Don’t want to make things weird.”

"Weird? It’s already weird." Amy narrowed her eyes. "What you really mean is you’re not going to bonk him just in case he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, which is just hogwash. Don’t deny it, you’d have to be blind not to see he’s completely in love with you."

Her stomach lurched, equally excited and unnerved by the suggestion. But she merely said, keeping her voice light and avoiding Amy’s suddenly motherly look, “I have awful taste in men, remember?”

"He’s not like other men, I’ll say that much for him," said Amy, who shook her head, knowing without being told that Rose was close to bolting. She ended the conversation by poking her head into the kitchen to make sure the Doctor had not accidentally drowned Rory in the sink.

Shortly after the Ponds left, Rose’s mood took a plummet for the worse. It had to do partly with the nagging sense that Amy had been making a valid point, which Rose stubbornly refused to think about. The larger reason for her newly foul disposition was the pain that had begun as a minor twinge in the pit of her abdomen, which had increased into full-blown pangs, and was now entering excruciating territory. Her period had come, and it was making itself known with a vicious victory march.

Sleeping early wasn’t an option, not when she was in such discomfort, so she curled up on the sofa with the Doctor, clutching a hot water bottle to her belly. He seemed to have caught on that she was feeling unwell, and even though she refused to say, he also seemed to know the source of it and was being almost unbearably sympathetic, fussing over her until she snapped - unfairly, she knew, but she couldn’t help it - at him. But he hadn’t taken it badly at all. He’d stayed kind, making tea and breaking out a stash of chocolate biscuits she hadn’t known he’d been hiding somewhere in the kitchen.

The biscuits helped, a little, and soon all that was left of them was a trail of crumbs on the sofa. It all felt too domestic - Rose in her pajamas, the Doctor wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair mussed, eyes tracking the scene unfolding on screen - a sex scene, naturally; of course there would be a sex scene when Rose was feeling bloated and cramped, the complete opposite of sexy. She snuck a peek at the Doctor, and wondered in a moment of madness what would happen if she grabbed him and snogged the living daylights out of him, the way the heroine of the film had done to her hunky love interest. Amy’s prodding had done this - had made her incredibly aware of him.

The Doctor noticed she was watching him and looked away from the screen to meet her gaze. She shivered, involuntarily, hoping her thoughts were not readable on her face.

"You’re cold," he said, reaching the complete opposite conclusion of what she actually felt - a wave of embarrassed heat - and reached for the throw blanket that was wadded up behind him. He unfolded it and spread it across his lap, then held out his hand to her, one corner of the blanket lifted. An invitation to cuddle. "Come here."

A small spark, nothing compared to the shocks they’d given each other in the past, traveled along her hand as she accepted his offer. Awkwardly, against her better judgement, Rose slid across the sofa to curl up against his chest. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped the fluffy throw around her shoulder, his arm coming to rest over it on her waist.

"Better now?"

She sighed, gripping her hot water bottle more tightly. Better was an understatement. It was like hell and heaven all at once, and if she weren’t feeling so miserable she might have enjoyed the physical intimacy more thoroughly. Rose tried to focus on the telly and ignore the way her pulse seemed to throb in her veins, almost in tune to the beating of the Doctor’s heart. She could feel it under her fingertips, a thundering rhythm in her ear, every passing minute bringing her acute awareness of his touch and smell and warmth to an unbearable level. The last hour of the film went by in a blur of discomfort/pleasure, until at last the credits rolled.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. The Doctor hummed and pushed the water bottle off her stomach onto his lap. Rose whimpered slightly from the loss, even though it had cooled down to nothing. He replaced the empty space with his hand, stroking her palm with his thumb. There was a light pressure on her head, just above her temple. She shivered once more, restless and wary.

His voice was muffled, lips playing in her hair, “Rose?” She didn’t reply, so he ventured again, shifting her slightly to get her attention, “Rose? Are you okay?”

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t okay at all. Making a disgruntled noise, Rose shook her head. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t say she was cross because she was hormonal and cramped and frustrated because he’d been cuddling her all night and hadn’t done anything except _cuddle her all night._

"Poor Rose." He stroked her face with the back of his hand, "Do you want to take a bath?"

"No," she sighed. A hot shower, perhaps, but she didn’t feel like getting up, and it was so comfortable on the sofa with the Doctor cradling her.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, still rubbing her back with long, inexorable strokes, the press of his palms far more soothing than expected.

"I’ll just go to bed," she said finally, in a small pathetic voice, pressing her face into his t-shirt and inhaling deeply. He was so warm and solid and despite what she’d just said, Rose didn’t move.

"Sounds like a good plan," the Doctor murmured, but he didn’t move, either.

"Yeah," she breathed, and felt like she was hovering on a cliff edge - inches from throwing herself over, on the cusp of something not exactly forbidden, but unknown and terrifying. "I’ll go to bed."

 _Come with me_ , a voice suggested in her head, but of course Rose didn’t - couldn’t - voice it. She almost did, though, and barely recalled her senses, just enough to ensure that she didn’t cross the point of no return - not tonight.

Instead, Rose pulled out of his arms and said, “Goodnight,” barely registering his quietly issued response, an echo of her own. The Doctor followed behind her as she slipped away into her room, door closing with a soft click.

Her knees shook as she sat down on the bed, hands gripping her coverlet, listening to the sound of the Doctor lingering outside her door. Long minutes passed in silence, and then she finally heard the sound of his footsteps moving away, down the hall to his own room.

 

* * *

 

Cuddling was dangerous. It gave her brain ideas, apparently. Combined with the fact that her hormones were out of control at this time of the month, ideas were very much a bad thing. They coalesced into wicked desires, fueled by her overactive libido, which very much wanted to see if the Doctor was as innocent as he seemed to be - _no way_ , Amy’s voice sneered in her head - and Rose counteracted it by avoiding cuddling (or any sort of physical contact) as much as possible. Fortunately, the Doctor was caught up with new findings in his research, and for the better part of the following week, Rose was left to stew in her own (impure) thoughts, to the best of her abilities. As much as it was a relief to not have to control her baser urges around him all the time, she also found that she felt a bit lonely.

She discovered a piece of paper on the floor of her bedroom one morning, slipped under the gap of the door. Having not seen the Doctor for several days straight, her ridiculous heart skipped a beat. Unfolded, the note revealed a little hand drawn map with a pink square labelled VITEX at the bottom, a blue triangle labelled SCIENCE MUSEUM at the top, and arrows leading from the box to the triangle and a drawing of a stick man wearing sunglasses. There was a speech bubble coming from the general vicinity of his mouth, which read ALLONS-Y! If she’d cared to look into the mirror at her own face, she’d have realised the smile on her face was just as goofy as the note.

Rose wondered, all day, in the back of her mind what the Doctor had planned. She escaped by the skin of her teeth after Pete cornered her in the office at the end of it, hoping to rope her into dinner with him and Jackie. She pleaded paperwork and a headache and made sure she didn’t mention the Doctor’s name even once, just in case her parents somehow twigged on the fact that they were living together. (Amazingly, she’d been able to hide this from them up until now, though every day it became more of an anvil hanging over her head, and there would be no accounting for what Jackie’s reaction might be upon finding out. Church bells tolled menacingly in her mind, doves and rice and all.)

When she got to her destination, a redheaded woman Rose had never seen before was sitting behind the counter at Guest Services, nose buried in a magazine. The name tag on her ill-fitting grey suit jacket read ‘ASTRID’ but Rose was fairly certain that was not her name. Astrid was blonde and petite, this woman was her complete opposite.

"Hi," she said, "Er- is the Doctor here?"

The woman looked up, and did a double take. Like, a full on, _whoa there!_ double take, complete with jaw dropping dawning realisation. She breathed, “Oh. Wow.”

Well, that wasn’t weird by half. Rose frowned and said, “I beg your pardon?”

"Sorry, sorry. I’m Donna," she said, dropping the gossip rag. "And you must be Rose."

Rose frowned harder. “Do we know each other?”

"Nah. The Doctor conned me into hanging out here until you show up," said Donna. "I’m supposed to be giving tours downstairs, but he’s better at it, and the kids love him. I can’t believe you’re real. I was this close to betting ten quid that he’d made up this beautiful blonde girlfriend but here you are." Before Rose could reply, she asked, "Blimey, how’d he manage to snag you? I mean, I recognize you! You’re _Rose Tyler_ , aren’t you?”

It had been years since Rose had been in any sort of public notice - she eyed the magazine suspiciously - but she supposed at one point, she’d been rather famous, a sort of real life modern day rags-to-riches Cinderella. The one misguided attempt at a family Vitex advertising campaign (consisting of Pete, Jackie and Rose, in matching tops, all holding their thumbs up whilst sharing a supersize Vitex drink) had flopped hard, becoming a source of ridicule for the entire nation. Being a celebrity sucked was the moral of that story.

"Er, yes, I am, but-"

Donna looked like she would choke on her own incredulous excitement. “Are you really his live-in lover?”

His- she choked out, “No, oh my god, we’re just living together. We’re not… together together.” _Not yet,_ Amy’s sly voice popped up in her head, which only served to make her feel even more embarrassed.

"I knew it!" Donna exclaimed, slapping her hand onto the desk. "I figured it was all rumours. One-sided, is it then?" She looked at Rose consideringly. "But just in case there’s a chance, even the tiniest one, you should know he’s pretty popular with the girls around here."

It was hard not to react. “Is he?”

"Oh yeah," said the redheaded receptionist, her mouth twisting wryly. "It’s a mystery to me, too."

"He’s… he’s handsome," Rose couldn’t help saying, in the Doctor’s defense.

"I s’pose. Bit of a beanpole, though, ain’t he?"

"What’s wrong with that? He’s tall, that’s- that’s good, isn’t it?"

"Yeeaaah, but he’s tall and skinny, like he got stretched. I wouldn’t know what to do if a gust o’ wind came along and blew him away!"

"He’s not as skinny as he looks," said Rose, definitely feeling defensive now.

"If you say so. I like my men with a bit of muscle, and a strong jaw, and a nice bum never hurt anybody either-"

That was so unfair it set Rose’s teeth on edge. The Doctor was strong, she knew he was from his massages, and his jaw was _perfect_ for his face. As for his bum, well, she’d got a few good looks at it and if Donna thought it wasn’t nice, then she seriously needed to get her eyes checked-

"His hair’s great, though," she blurted out, incensed, "You’ve got to admit that he’s got some really, really great hair."

"It’s alright," said Donna.

"Alright? It’s better than alright!"

"Keep your knickers on, I’m not saying he’s ugly. Just not my type. Here’s your gorgeous Adonis Romeo now with his pack of admirers in tow. Keeps growing by the day." Donna leaned against the grey counter and belted, "Oi! Spaceman! Your girlfriend’s here!" before snatching a file folder from the desk and sauntering off with a wink in Rose’s direction.

The Doctor shed his disappointed entourage and bounded up to Rose, grinning from ear to ear. “Hullo Rose!”

"Spaceman?" Rose asked, bemused, as he took her hand.

"Yeah, she calls me that. She’s brilliant, Donna is." He grinned, directing her towards the exit. "Just started temping here last week. I quite like her, though. Funny and ginger. Tell you what, though, I’ve always wanted to be ginger."

"Really?"

"Yep! Sadly, I’m just sort of brown, aren’t I?"

"A nice brown."

"Thanks! Been experimenting with back-combing, I think it makes all the difference." He preened, raking his hand through his really, really great hair - Rose flushed a little, and the Doctor caught her embarrassed expression out of the corner of his eye. He peered at her, brow lifted. "You’re feeling better, today, aren’t you?"

"Yeah," she said, reassuringly. "Loads better."

"Brilliant," he said, and swung their hands, the gleam in his eyes full of anticipation. "Ready?"

 

* * *

 

Some fuzzy plush dolls that looked like white marshmallows with smiley faces had joined the menagerie dangling from his windshield since the last time Rose had been inside the passenger seat of the Ford Anglia.

"You’re sure you filled the petrol tank, Doctor?"

"Of course!"

"Just checking. So where are we going?"

"You’ll see." He rummaged in the glove compartment, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. "Put these on."

"Why?"

"Just put them on."

The Doctor drove for ages, it seemed, on the M25, heading north west for the good part of an hour. It was dark by the time he slowed down, his rickety old car wheezing from the exercise it had been given. Rose checked the GPS on her mobile - they were driving towards a small village in Essex, bordered by forests and countryside. It was probably very picturesque in the daytime but at that particular moment she couldn’t see a thing past the headlights of the car. They drove on a slight incline, the road becoming bumpier and bumpier, until Rose realised they were going uphill.

"Watch your step when we get out," the Doctor advised, "It’s very dark here. Theydon Bois is notable for it’s complete lack of street lighting - the villagers here have voted against installation of any such lighting for decades. They like the traditional ambience."

He unsnapped the torch from his rearview mirror and took out a red sweet wrapper from his pocket. Rose watched as he wrapped the red foil around the tip of the torch, securing it with a rubber band. “Torchlight ruins light acclimatisation,” he explained. “This’ll prevent it.”

"Light acclimatisation?"

He winced as she took the torch from him and shone it in his face. “Oi. You can take your sunglasses off, now.”

"I feel so much cooler with them on, though," she said, just to tease him. He looked eerie in the red light, the smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth seemed particularly mischievous. As he bent over the driver seat to grab something in the back of the car, Rose slipped outside into the cool evening air.

Her mobile buzzed, surprising her, but apparently traditionalists who didn’t care for road safety still liked the modern convenience of cellular communication. She fumbled in the dark but managed to pick up the call without accidentally hanging up. “Hello?”

It was her mum, ringing to find out why Rose hadn’t come over for dinner even though she had specifically sent Pete over to bring her home. Rose hurried to ward off the inquisition, hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible. “Sorry, Mum, I just have too much work- yes, I know, I haven’t come around in weeks, but I’ve been busy. No, I’m not seeing anyone. No. No, I’m not on a date. No, the Doctor isn’t here-for Pete’s sake, Mum- sorry, I’m sorry, okay? Okay. I’ll see you later. Bye.”

The Doctor was hovering near the front of the car by the time she rang off, the sound of gravel crunching under his trainers giving away his location. He must have heard everything.

"Sorry," she said, feeling guilty over the lie, "It’s just-"

"-So they don’t get the wrong idea," he knowingly finished the sentence for her. Rose felt a flicker of something in her stomach - wariness, guilt -but pushed it down. He didn’t sound upset, at least, and was further reassured by the friendly feeling of his hand closing around her own, squeezing.

"Come around to the front of the car," he instructed, and helped her sit on the boot, over which he’d spread something soft and woolly - a blanket. Another one was placed over her lap, equally soft, thicker and heavier than the one she sat on. She felt him climb on, next to her, his added weight making the metal frame creak.

"Warm enough?" Though it was summer, there was still a chill in the air at night. "I should’ve brought a flask of tea."

"Cozy," she said. "Ta."

"Good. Now take off your sunglasses, Rose Tyler, and look at the stars."

Ah. So that was it, then. The pieces clicked into place, and Rose wondered how she could have failed to guess his plans. It seemed obvious now that stargazing was what they were here for, in this dark little village in the middle of the night.The Doctor had mentioned it once or twice before, lamenting the sheer light pollution of London, which made it impossible to truly appreciate the beauty of the cosmos. There was the planetarium, of course, but he’d said it didn’t compare to seeing the stars in the sky with your own eyes.

"Start with the North star, Polaris, to orient yourself." He switched off the torch and raised his arm, pointing to the heavens.

"How do you know which one is the North star?"

"It’s the one that doesn’t move," the Doctor replied, invisible but for his voice because it was so dark, so unlike the city night she was used to. Rose shifted closer to him and felt small.

"That’s why Polaris is so important, you know. A point of constancy, visible from almost anywhere on earth, at any hour of the night and at any time of the year. Always in a northerly direction unless you happened to be at the North Pole, in which case, it’d be directly overhead. The axis of Earth is pointed almost directly at it - so Polaris never rises or sets. It just remains - in the same spot above the northern horizon all year round, while other stars circle around it. Polaris is located in the constellation of Ursa Minor-"

"Little Bear," Rose murmured, recalling the name from a book she’d often had read to her, by Jackie, as a child. A mother and son in Greek mythology, stricken by tragedy and placed into the heavens by Zeus, to immortalise their legacy. In the darkness, she felt rather than saw his body stiffen. 

But he went on speaking, voice even, as though delivering a lecture. “Polaris is a yellow-white supergiant and brightest Cepheid variable star in the night sky, ranging from apparent magnitude 1.97 to 2.00. I’d say it’s at 1.98, right now. In fact, even though it’s roughly a distance of 434 light-years from Earth, it has luminosity nearly 4,000 times that of our sun. Imagine.”

Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dark and things that hadn’t been visible before became clear. The slope of the Doctor’s noise, tilted up, his head resting on the windshield. His Adam’s apple, bobbing as he spoke and pointed - at the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper, at Jupiter, at _Beta Ursae Minoris_ , also known as Kochab, and _Gamma Ursae Minoris_ , both guardians of the pole star, both barely discernible. The flush on his pale cheeks and the way his mouth seemed interminably dry, causing him to lick his lips every other sentence.

She felt it like a tiny knot in her stomach, a macroscopic feeling of anxiety. _Something isn’t right._ The sense of unease persisted as she listened to him drone on and on, relentless, a strangely forced cheer in his implacable tone. It grew until it became a real feeling, a certain knowledge that the Doctor wasn’t his usual self. She didn’t know how long he went on talking but it felt like hours. Eventually his voice grew hoarse and he paused to swallow.

"Doctor," she said into the brief lull, "We’ve been out here a long time."

"Yeah. I s’pose we have. Sorry. Got carried away. Did I bore you?"

As if he could. “No. But shouldn’t we… I dunno… head back? It must be getting on pretty late by now.”

"Yeah," he said, after a moment, and she knew that he really did not want to.

"What is it?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm. "What’s the matter?

"Nothing. Just a bit thirsty."

"S’not what I meant," _and you know it._ “What’s going on?” _Why’d you bring me all the way out here? Why are you acting weird and evasive? Why don’t you want to go home?_

He didn’t reply, not right away. Then, suddenly, he said, “It’s my birthday.” The words issued from his lips in a rush, like he’d had to force them out.

Rose sat up in surprise, and her mouth fell open. She closed it, for a moment unable to think of how to react, or what to say. Finally she settled on smacking his arm.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she demanded, indignant. "It’s your birthday! I didn’t buy you a present, or anything! I didn’t know!"

He shrugged, and sat up as well, slowly shoving his hand into his pocket. “I dunno. Didn’t seem… right, to make a big deal of it. Anyway, I’m having a good time.” It didn’t seem like it. He added, making her feel a strange combination of unease and touched, “Always do, with you, Rose Tyler.” The hand he’d put into his pocket emerged, clutching something small. “I’ve got something for you, by the way.”

"What’s this?" she asked, catching the thing he threw at her, almost missing in the dark. That’d be fun, searching for it in the grass, if she hadn’t. The Doctor fumbled on the car boot and turned the torch back on, red light illuminating a little blue box resting in Rose’s palm.

"I made it in my lab," he said, watching as she opened the box to reveal a silver chain bracelet, "It’s a polymer alloy that negates electric charge in natural fibers and human skin."

"Oh," was all she could say.

"I’ve got one too." He lifted his other arm, cuff sliding down to reveal a glimmer of something metallic around his wrist. "We haven’t shocked each other as much lately, have you noticed? It’s because I’ve been wearing mine. Testing it out. It works."

He’d made the equivalent of friendship bracelets. She wanted to laugh, but was afraid it would offend him. She took the bracelet out of the box, and slipped it over her wrist. The Doctor helped her with the clasp, and turned her hand over to admire it.

"Perfect," he said, the warmth in his voice hitting her like a wave of honey and molasses.

"But it’s… your birthday. You shouldn’t be giving me presents, it should be the other way around." Her mouth felt dry, like something was stuck in it, and there was a strange fluttering in her chest - not so strange, though, really, she was used to it by now: he was constantly putting it there. There was a look on his face, a weird sort of look, like he was struggling to hold back some deeper emotion, keeping it buried beneath the careless, diffident front he was presenting.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she asked again, sensing that she might uncover some of his secrets, if she pushed just the right amount, at the right moment. For instance, now.

"I don’t usually celebrate. Haven’t in years."

"Why not?"

"S’not a fun story," he said, softly, after a long pause.

Goosebumps prickled her skin, though she didn’t feel cold. “Tell me anyway.”

"The last time I celebrated my birthday was when I was twelve."

He fell silent again, for such a long time, she thought he might not continue. But then he exhaled, deeply, and spoke again. “I wanted them to come, you see. Up to Uni, to visit. I hadn’t been home in months. There was a woman on the motorway, she was driving home from the hospital. Something happened, a seizure, an attack of some sort, and she lost control. My parents were in the car behind her.”

Rose swallowed. “They didn’t make it?”

"No," he said.

"Sorry," she said, inching towards him, taking his hand. Her heart felt like a hand had closed around it and squeezed, painfully; she leaned her head onto his shoulder for support - whether for him, or her, she didn’t quite know but it seemed to comfort him. "I’m so sorry, Doctor."

"You’re shivering," he muttered, sounding distressed. He put his arm about her and pulled her into his side. "Come closer."

There they went, cuddling again. She wrapped both arms around his waist, as tightly as she could, never wanting to let go. Who had hugged him, when his parents had died? Who had held his hand? Her heart ached, thinking of him as a child, bereaved and alone and lost. It ached for him now, the grown up him, unable to celebrate his own birthday without the guilt of his parents death on his conscience, though it had not been his fault. But she knew there wasn’t a way to convince him of that - nothing she could say to alleviate that pain. She could only offer comfort and companionship, and was fiercely glad he’d brought her out here, glad he didn’t have to spend his birthday alone.

"It’s alright," he said softly. "It happened a long time ago."

She clung to him harder. Time passed, an eternity, or mere seconds - Rose had no idea. It grew steadily cooler in the wee hours of the morning, and finally the Doctor whispered, carefully, “I booked us a room at a local inn.”

A frisson went down her spine.

"It’s too late to drive back to London," she agreed, her voice sounding not quite her own. He’d planned for this, then. Had he known he’d tell her about his parents’ death, intended to share all along? It hadn’t seemed that way. She’d dragged it out of him, hadn’t she? Which meant he’d intended for them to stay out here all night, regardless.  

The room was much smaller, less extravagant than the one he’d booked before. The innkeepers seemed nonchalant, accepting of arrivals in the middle of the night. They must deal with stargazers all the time here, Rose thought, as they checked in. Couples returning from a cold, romantic outing, eager for a warm room with a warm bed- she blushed, and willed the thought away.

But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but remember-

_He’s waiting for you to make the first move._

Maybe it was time to do something about it - this constant attraction, the chemistry that sizzled between them, forever driving her to unfound heights of frustration.

Tonight was different, as well. Rose felt closer to the Doctor than she had ever felt before - he’d been vulnerable, sad, and had chosen to reveal that side of himself to her. Compassion was an intrinsic part of her nature, and combined with the already all-consuming affection she felt for him, Rose had reached a peak where her feelings were concerned.

On the stairwell landing, the Doctor peered down at her, concern in his eyes. “You’re tired.”

She wasn’t. She wasn’t tired at all, her blood was surging in her veins, pulse vibrating in her wrists where his fingers touched her. Desire reared it’s sleepy head, as it did so often these days, a product of living in such close proximity to the man before her.

"Bed," he said, looking down at her.

_Yes. Bed._

"Come with me," she said, boldly, throwing all caution to the wind. Her voice was low, but insistent, and it sounded foreign to her own ears. Rose was rarely forward in situations like this… rarely did she initiate sexual encounters… she was astonished by her own eagerness.

He said, “Of course,” then took her hand and walked them both to their room, pushing the door open with a minor creak. Her heart pounded as they crossed the room to the bed, mattress dipping slightly as she sat him on the edge of it, one hand on his shoulder.

His arms went around her waist, naturally, and he buried his head into her stomach, rubbing his face on her jumper like Ducky did sometimes against his pant leg. With reverence. With the desire for contact and affection and wholesale, unbarred devotion. She felt a pang deep in her chest when he looked up, eyes bright in the glow of the moonlight through the half-shuttered window.

"Happy Birthday, Doctor," she said, and kissed him. Gently. Just a press of her lips to his, light and chaste. Just to ease herself into it, because it had been a while for Rose, been some time since she’d last kissed someone, or been kissed. She had forgotten how lovely it could be. How wonderfully warm and sweet, with someone she really liked - someone she truly cared for. With the Doctor, the man she-

He pulled back, his hand cupping her face, lips inches from her own. His breath ghosted on her cupid’s bow, making her tremble deep down. _Yes, oh yes yes yes._

She waited for him to kiss her back, to pull her in between his legs, make a space for her to sink into him the way Rose wanted him to sink into her. But the Doctor didn’t do any of those things. He pulled her down, yes, but did not press her to his chest, just down onto the bed. Nor did he lower himself onto Rose, or press her against the mattress to make love to her. None of that.

He just… laid her down, and settled behind her, inches separating them. In silence, he pulled the covers over her, and lay on top of them. A barrier.

It was then that she understood. He meant no. He was saying no. He didn’t want-

"Goodnight, Rose," he said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She didn’t sleep until dawn.

 


	8. Charge Separation

*

THE DRIVE BACK to the city felt much longer than it had previously. Traffic was terrible, slowing to a crawling pace at some points, giving them far too much time to sit together in heavy silence. Rose fiddled with her seatbelt and mobile, gazing out the window at the unchanging scenery - bumper stickers and dirty car windows, interspersed with motorway signs she barely registered. The Doctor repeatedly attempted to engage her in conversation, but she resisted him and his cheerful prattle by telling him she was tired and would rather take a nap.

She’d been resisting for so long, it seemed.

Always keeping a step back, barely dipping a cautious toe in the water. But it had been inevitable, hadn’t it? This outcome. Falling in love with the Doctor. Her chatterbox sweetheart - he’d showered her with affection, attention, adoration and all sorts of alliterating words starting with ‘A’ - of course she’d fallen. Fast and hard, for a man who pursued with single-minded devotion yet lacked proper follow through.

Had she read the signs wrong? Hurt and humiliation aside, she was also confused. A single room, a single bed, a night under the stars and a heartwrenching confession from him… all of it terribly romantic. And the way he’d looked at her when she’d kissed him… no, she hadn’t misread things. He’d simply changed his mind, somewhere along the way. Something had made him think better of it, or worse… the same circling thoughts swirled in her brain, bringing the tension headache that threatened behind her eyes to a pounding crescendo.

Some time later she felt a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake. Opening her eyes, Rose found the Doctor had unbuckled his seatbelt and was leaning over her, his hand lifting to her face to brush her hair aside.

"Rose, we’re back in London." His palm covered her forehead, feeling for a temperature. "Are you okay?"

The concern on his face made her feel worse - a mixture of anger and yearning and frustration. If he didn’t want her, why did he look at her like he did, like he _cared_ so much, like nothing mattered to him except her well-being and happiness?

She shut her sleep-deprived eyes again and shook her head.

"I’m fine," she said, knowing it sounded insincere but unhappy with him enough not to care.

Bracing herself for the walk home from the underground parking garage, Rose ignored his attempts at coddling her - he was assuming she’d come down with some sort of bug, probably - yeah, she had a big case of ‘Doctor’-itis and there was no cure for it except for memory-erasure or a time machine.

To make things worse, the Doctor went on being brutally kind to her all day, bringing her tea and biscuits until Rose couldn’t stand it anymore and locked him out of her bedroom.

He was acting as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t rejected her. As if he didn’t know what was really bothering her, and that was what frightened her the most - the idea that he could be so utterly oblivious to the source of her hurt, that he didn’t even _realise_ what had happened was a turning point in their relationship… one he’d curtailed… she didn’t want to think about it.

But she had to, and so she feigned illness to give herself time to think things through. When she finally emerged from her self-inflicted prison - chocolate, tea, bad telly and adequate amounts of sleep had bestowed Rose with much needed clarity - she knew what she had to do.

Nothing.

There was nothing to do, after all.

She had thrown herself at the Doctor and he had turned her down. That was fine. It hurt, but it was fine. She realised now that he had done her a kindness, really - another man would have taken up on the offer, unable to resist in the heat of the moment and come to regret it in the morning.

But not the Doctor. For whatever his reasons, the truth remained the same: he did not want to cross that invisible line between being something vaguely _more_ than best mates, but definitely _less_ than lovers.

This way was better. This way they stayed clearly, firmly, in the established lines of friendship. No need to navigate the messy waters of a spur-of-the-moment sexual encounter, possibly a bad one, resulting in awkwardness and perhaps even the destruction of the relationship they had. All of Rose’s previous relationships had ended badly, even the longest of them - the years she’d spent with Mickey, her childhood friend - that had been the worst, the most bitter and hurtful. She didn’t want that. She liked being the Doctor’s best mate, liked what they had. They could maintain the status quo, go on living together, continue having brilliant, fun, wacky adventures.

Thank god for that.

 

* * *

 

Rose found the Doctor in the kitchen, melting something in the microwave - butter? Ice cream? Plastic figurines? Who knew? - and said, “Oi. Pay up.”

"Eh?"

"It’s rent time. Where’s my fix?"

"What?" said the Doctor, uncharacteristically clumsy, both physically and verbally. He dropped his spatula, tried to catch it but it slipped, so he left it on the floor and turned to face her.

"Bath bombs," she clarified. "I’m low."

"Sorry! Right! I-I’ll whip up a batch in no time," he said, wiping his hand on his chest and leaving a big wet greenish smear on the apron he was wearing. He looked to her eagerly, a hint of relief in his eyes, and she felt herself soften towards him.

She smiled and tucked her hurt feelings away to be tended to later, secretly. There was no point was there? To be upset with him. It was her own fault, for wanting more out of their relationship than he could give. She’d known, hadn’t she? He wasn’t one for that sort of thing. He’d said so himself.

"Here." She thrust a bag of cupcakes with edible ball bearings at him, a peace offering. He didn’t know it was one but that was okay. It was a peace offering with herself, a gesture that cemented her acceptance of their unchanged state of affairs. "I got these for you. Happy belated birthday."

"Thanks!" He looked so brilliantly pleased she found herself relaxing a bit more. This was good. This was how it had been before.

It was difficult to tell whether the Doctor sensed her withdrawal or not. He remained ever the same, dogging at her heels, bouncy and playful. Perhaps even more so than before - his exploits in the kitchen became madder, less easy to ignore - and there was something almost aggressive in his attempts to keep her attention.

They met up with Amy and Rory at the pub almost nightly, because the Pond’s microwave had stopped working and their stovetop was so old it had begun to smoke if they attempted to turn it on - Rory confided that they were looking for a proper home, a house to settle down in, which didn’t surprise Rose. It did make her feel the teeniest bit of envy, however. In the furthest recesses of her mind she wondered if the Doctor would ever want that sort of life - a house, a mortgage, a marriage. She couldn’t quite imagine it. There was something of the vagabond in him - a constant restlessness, flitting from one adventure to the next, pausing only ever so often to wink and beckon at his friends, urging them to join him in his escapades.

Amy teased her as usual, but Rose didn’t rise to the bait. Coming back from the loo, she was vaguely perturbed to see that they’d all moved seats. Amy and Rory were now on either side of the Doctor, wearing matching expressions of mischief on their faces. He refused to elaborate on what the Ponds had said to him beyond a vague ‘I’m to take a look at their stove’ that did nothing to assure her. Especially when it seemed to trigger a new onslaught of confusing behavior from him. But she knew better this time, and kept herself securely trenchant against his oblivious wiles.

 

* * *

 

One quiet evening he called her into his bedroom to look at something, which was a bit strange. He never really spent much time in it, truth be told, he seemed to prefer the kitchen - perhaps because Jackie had convinced Rose to install the latest kitchen gadgetry when she’d moved in, hoping it would inspire her daughter to eat well - and the Doctor loved gadgets above all else.

The room was neat by his standards, even his bed was made. The small makeshift desk that stood against the wall below the window was cleared of all debris, when usually it was covered in papers and bits and bobs. A microscope sat on it, very advanced and expensive looking.

"Take a look!" He pointed at it, smiling widely - and a touch nervously? - so she obliged. When she looked, however, there was nothing but a blurry smudge.

"Hold on," he said, very close to her ear. Rose went very still, not quite daring to breathe. "Magnification’s off. Let me just adjust it…"

His arms came around her, one hand resting on the edge of the counter next to her own. The fingers of his right hand brushed hers. A small spark crackled between them, because Rose had taken her bracelet off. He was still wearing his, so the shock was not so bad. This close, she could smell his aftershave - sharp, slightly bitter - and something faintly sweet under it, tinged with the scent of bergamot and florals; he’d been making bath fizzies for her again. Her skin prickled, feeling the warmth of him behind her, the way his shoulder eclipsed the light of the ceiling fixture, because he was so much taller than she. If Rose turned her head, her lips would align perfectly with his collar - that sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder-

 _Don’t start_ , she told her libido, inhaling shakily. _That way lies danger._

Rose pulled back after looking through the lens for about two seconds, barely seeing the contents of the slide. “Can’t really see anything.”

"Eh? Surely not, it’s not on the wrong setting again, is it? Just a sec-" He fiddled with the dials, his fingers moving dexterously, "Ah! There we go! Look again!"

She did, reluctantly, trying her best not to shiver as he began to describe the pinkish hexagonal pattern of the cell slide she peered down at, his breath striking her cheek.

"Self-organization, it’s a spontaneous process by which order occurs between the components of an initially disordered system…" He went on, knowledgeable and verbose, his voice making her feel a little ache that couldn’t be soothed. But even he soon realised that she wasn’t listening, not really, and her posture was stiff, uncomfortable. A cracking tension filled the air. Finally he stepped away, giving her space to breathe in again.

"Sorry. It’s… something I’m working on. Just thought… well, I s’pose it’s not all that interesting to people outside my field."

Except it _was_ interesting, and if they could go back a week into the past she would have gladly listened, gladly allowed him to stand close behind her, arms around her while he imparted the secrets of the Universe right into her ear. She wanted to cuddle up with him and listen to him talk for ages about synthetic biology, and how scientists might one day control a tree to grow a chair, rather than chop a tree down to make one. That ship had sailed, though.

She opted to play dumb, shrugging with a smile, “Bit too complicated for me.”

He didn’t return her smile, and for a brief moment he seemed almost angry - what did he have to be angry about? she wondered, in annoyance - but the look faded and he bustled her into the kitchen, where he had left a bowl of new bath fizzies for her.

She made a real effort to avoid being alone in the same room with him for any extended amount of time after that.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor burst into her bedroom upon hearing her small cry of pain. He stopped short, and openly stared in bewilderment, his eyes wide as saucers.

Rose stared back, her grimace turning into an ‘o’ of surprise.

"My zipper’s stuck," she explained, heat spreading across her bare shoulders. It wasn’t like she was naked, or anything. She had most of her outfit on and everything worth covering was covered. It was just a matter of not being able to reach the long zipper down the back of her form-fitting black dress and getting her skin pinched in the process of attempting to pull it up.

"Oh."

An awkward silence stretched between them, awareness pricking over Rose’s skin. He was still staring. Her stomach twisted, a little bit, but she willed it away.

Then the Doctor said, “Do you need help?”

She cleared her throat, nodded, and turned her back to him.

It was just a thing that flatmates did for each other, right? There was nothing weird about it, nothing at all, not even when the Doctor paused with her zipper halfway up, babbling about a mole he had under his shoulder blade. It might’ve just been one of his usual tangents, but a little insistent part of her wondered if he was stalling, if he wanted to keep his hand on her bare back for as long as he could. (Except that was rubbish thinking, it was, and she really need to stop herself.)

"Going out?" he asked, taking a step back.

"Mhm. Vitex thing. Executives only," said Rose, which was not wholly a lie. She slid her other earring into place and slipped into her heels, studiously avoiding meeting his gaze.

"Do you need a lift?"

"Nah," she said, waving him off. "Got it sorted, thanks."

 

* * *

 

Rory was surprised to find the Doctor standing on their welcome mat upon answering the door. “Oh, hi Doctor. What’s up?”

The Doctor bounced on his heels, trainers leaving a puddle on the floor - it was raining and naturally he never carried an umbrella. He smiled brightly. “You’re home! Excellent.”

Well, it was nearly 10PM on a Sunday night. Nurses, like Doctors (including present company) kept irregular hours, but Rory tried to keep his shifts as closely aligned with Amy’s as he could, to give them as much time together as possible. There was a lot of pleading and cajoling and favours involved, but it was worth it.

"What’s up?" Rory repeated the question, cautious.

"Nothing! Just thought I’d pop by!"

He’d thought those days were over, but apparently not. “Um, now’s not the best time…”

The Doctor ignored that and squeezed past him, heading for the kitchen. “So, what was that problem you had, with the microwave? Let me take a look, hey?”

Ducky somehow sensed her beloved was present, and came slinking out of her favourite hideaway, the crevice between the sofa and the far corner of the living room, tail swishing with ardour. The Doctor ignored her, too.

"I appreciate your concern, but-"

"And your wi-fi issue, I think that’s related to the microwave, too, we’ll probably have to move your router to the other side of the flat to boost the signal, it’s probably interference that’s causing the constant dropped connection, I can fix that for you in a jiffy - have you got a drill, by any chance?"

"No," said Rory, blinking. He stared at the back of the Doctor’s head, which was bent over a kitchen drawer, rummaging through the contents. A sinking feeling penetrated his gut, one he hadn’t had in a while, not since the Doctor had met Rose Tyler and fallen head over heels in love with her. They’d teased him mercilessly that other night at the pub, until even the unflappable Doctor’s ears had gone red from blushing.

Rory had been happy with this development, even if Amy had expressed her doubts. He couldn’t see where the harm in it was. They got on well, Rose seemed happy, the Doctor was most definitely happy and it kept him busy. Apparently Rose had even managed to set him on a regular schedule, eating and sleeping at nearly human intervals, all the while maintaining the structural integrity of her living quarters. He had to hand it to her. Rory would not have pegged them as a successful couple, but if they made each other happy… well, that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

Speaking of which- “Hey, erm, where’s Rose?”

"She’s out with Aaron."

"Who?"

The Doctor didn’t answer. He opened another drawer and shuffled the contents of that one, too.

Oh. _Oh_. Understanding filled Rory and he regarded the Doctor with sympathy. He frowned, thinking it awfully bad form for Rose to pull a stunt like this. Poor bloke. He’d been in the same situation a few times. Perhaps it was fixable. Rory looked at the bedroom door with a pang, but knew this was one of those times when a mate’s needs outweighed one’s own desires. Amy was fast asleep, anyway. She probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped away for a few hours.

"Right," he said, laying a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. "Come on, Doctor. We’re going to the pub."

"Eh?"

"We can fix this."

"We can?"

Rory said, bracingly, “Course. Don’t lose hope. We’ll find a way.”

The Doctor frowned. “From the pub?”

"Yeah."

"But the microwave is here."

 

* * *

 

The flat was dark and empty when Rose returned. The Doctor wasn’t home.

She undressed slowly, changing into an old t-shirt and a loose pair of yoga pants before climbing into bed.

Vitex events were damnably boring and long, especially without the Doctor to keep her company. Rose wondered how she had got through them before, without him, even though he’d only come with her that one time. Adam just wasn’t the same. Moreover, Jackie didn’t like him, which made Adam defensive - why had she never noticed just how insecure he was until now? - and almost unbearably pompous as a result. By the end of the night she regretted agreeing to allow him to pick her up so they could arrive together. They had most certainly left separately, and likely for good.

Rose was exhausted. And yet, despite her fatigue, she kept tossing and turning, her mind insisting on keeping her wide awake, listening to the quiet of the flat. She told herself she wasn’t waiting up for him - she just couldn’t sleep.

Midnight came and went, as did 1AM, and then 2AM, and finally three. The noises started not long after that, shuffling and cursing and finally a heavy thump followed by silence.

Rose got out of bed, left the lights off, and tip-toed to the front door. She saw nothing but darkness when she looked through the peephole, despite the sounds of movement on the other side.

She opened the door and found him sitting slumped in the corridor, a dark dishevelled shape with the smell of alcohol wafting off him. Reaching back, Rose felt along the wall until her fingers met the light switch. He recoiled from the sudden brightness, one eye remaining shut as he lurched unsteadily to his feet.

"Forgot how the lock works," he whispered, at the same time somehow not managing to lower his voice from it’s regular volume whatsoever. "Sorry."

"Same as it always does," she said, "Key goes in the slot."

He seemed to find that funny and started to laugh, which had an unbalancing effect, causing him to stumble drunkenly backwards. Rose grabbed him and pulled him inside, closing the door softly for the sake of the neighbours even though a larger part of her wanted to slam it, hard, preferably on the Doctor’s head.

"You’re pissed."

"No, no, I’m not," he said and swerved forwards, tried to seize the handle and missed by approximately a foot. Instead he caught the hem of Rose’s shirt in his fingers and stumbled as he did so, very nearly causing them both to fall. Reflexively, his hands shot out to steady himself against the wall. Rose suddenly found herself backed up against it with the Doctor looming before her, hair and eyes wild. "I’ll tell you what I am, Rose, I’m clever-"

"Get off, Doctor-"

"-I’m clever, very very clever, and cleverer than him, and I’m taller, and I- I…" he paused, swallowed hard, lost in his thoughts. "I’m clever, Rose, verrrry clever. You like it when I’m clever, don’t you? I can be even more clever, just watch-"

She did watch, as he fumbled in his pockets, searching for something that failed to appear. After several futile moments, he gave up.

"Blasted sodding-" he muttered, a more colourful epithet emerging that made her blink in surprise because the Doctor rarely used curse words. His eyes drooped almost comically, face falling, the very picture of deflated inebriation.

"S’all I got," he said sadly.

"Don’t worry about it," she muttered.

In an instant his whole body sagged, as though the fight had been leached out of it. “S’not enough, is it? I knew it.”

"What’s not?" 

She bit her lip warily and looked up at him, still floored by this display of… of completely un-Doctorish behavior.

"Temptation," he muttered deliriously into her neck, getting a mouthful of her hair as a reward.

Like a broken record, all she could say was, “What?”

"You," he slurred, with a laugh, "Can’t help myself, Rose. You’re so… but I can’t… people don’t stay, they _don’t_ ever _do_.”

The breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding released itself, slowly. She’d known the Doctor wasn’t like other blokes. He was funny, and sweet, and easily distract-able. He could charm almost anyone when he put his mind to it, and got on well with most people. There were stragglers here and there, people who thought he was eccentric, or weird, or borderline mental, but they were few in number. It hadn’t been until she’d started living with him that she realised that he could be aloof and deliberately set himself apart from others. He had friends and acquaintances in spades, yes, but as he’d said no family, no one close to him. No one left.

Perhaps that was how he wanted it. The thought hurt, it did, it hurt a lot, to think that perhaps this… this was the answer to the question that had haunted her for weeks. That no matter how much she wanted to be close to him, he would never truly let her.

"No," she said, closing her eyes briefly, wondering what she had done to deserve this kind of torment, "We are _not_ doing this while you’re three sheets to the wind.”

"Rose," he seemed almost surprised, the words barely a mumble she could make out, "You’re angry."

"Yeah. Figured that one out real quick, huh-"

The Doctor’s damp forehead came to rest on her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mumbled into her top, his breath hot, making her stomach clench. “Cocked up! Always cocking up, can’t ‘elp it. Shouldn’ve, shh-hould’ve…”

He always had a way of disarming her, always pressed the right buttons and hit the right notes. She asked, quietly, “Should’ve what?”

But he wasn’t paying attention.

He laughed again, a curiously hollow sound. “Insensitive clod, head in the clouds, cl-clu-clueless! Blowin’ holes in everything, s’my specialty, everyone knows!”

The despair in his voice was distressing. Unconsciously, her hand raised itself and moved seemingly of its own accord to hesitantly stroke his back and shoulder, finally insinuating itself into his hair. He trembled, and crowded her even more, until she couldn’t breathe without inhaling him.

"Haven’t lost you, he says, haven’t yet-" The Doctor clutched at her sleeves, circling her wrists with his hands. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, his voice hoarse, "You don’t know, do you? You just don’t-," Every syllable was hushed, anguished, "I would’ve, would’ve, but- no, Rose, no, don’t go-"

He lifted his arms, pressed her wrists to the wall over her head. Caging her in with his wide shoulders and long limbs and dilated pupils. It was wonderful and terrible all at once: he wasn’t in his right mind but he was staring at her like he wanted nothing more than to sink into her and lose himself. She pushed against his hands, wanting free, but he wouldn’t budge.

"I’m not going anywhere," Rose tried, in a placating tone, but it didn’t work.

She had little warning, just the pressing of his body, closer, closer, and then his mouth descended, taking hers, kissing her. She froze, felt the brush of his hair on her forehead, the pliable softness of his lips in contrast with the firm way he sought her tongue, his own sweeping into her startled mouth. She felt herself go liquid in all four limbs, even as her head told her to put a stop to this straight away, he was drunk and this wasn’t supposed to happen-

"Doctor!" she gasped, wrenching her head back and hitting it against the wall with a painful thud.

The Doctor regarded her with clouded dismay. Even through the haze of alcohol he seemed to realise he’d done something inappropriate, but still he didn’t move. It took Rose a few minutes to collect herself, head sore, pulse racing. She licked her lips, an unconscious act she only became aware of because of the way the Doctor’s lowered gaze tracked the movement.

"C’mon." She tried to sound authoritative, but there was a definite throb in her voice, a weak vibrato that matched the erratic beating of her heart. "Let’s go into the kitchen, Doctor. I’ll put the kettle on and we can have some tea. That okay?"

There was silence in the hall, save for the sound of the Doctor’s laboured breathing and the squeak of his trainers on the floor. Rose waited, and slowly he lowered his arms, releasing her from his hold. The look on his face was excruciatingly haunted, a mixture of fear and yearning and determination.

"Come on," she insisted, taking his hand into hers.

She led him into the kitchen, and sat him at the table. By the time the water was hot, he was fast asleep, slumped against the oak top.

 _In the morning,_ she thought resolutely, head spinning with weariness and questions and the taste of the Doctor still in her mouth. _In the morning, we’ll sort this out. We’ll have a proper talk, me and the Doctor, and figure out where we both stand._

 


	9. Luminosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Certain bodies… become luminous when heated. Their luminosity disappears after some time, but the capacity of becoming luminous afresh through heat is restored to them by the action of a spark…”  
>  ― Marie Curie

*

The bed was cold when Rose opened her eyes, woken by a stream of sunlight pouring into the room. She soon realised she was alone, surrounded by sheets that were the wrong colour and a pillow that smelled different from her own. The Doctor’s bed. _His_ pillow, _his_ sheets, _his_ bedroom. The events of last night came cascading back to Rose with unapologetic clarity as she blinked the last bit of sleep away…

_With difficulty, she roused the Doctor enough to shift him into the bedroom, where he collapsed them both onto the bed. He was heavy, a dead weight, keeping her pinned to the covers. It was almost lovely, achingly so, and Rose didn’t have the strength to pull away._

_She would let herself have this. Cuddled up against him, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear, vulnerable and strong and beguiling all at once. But it was dangerous to stay this close to something she wanted so badly when everything was such a muddle. She gently extricated herself from his grasp and pulled away to lie on the edge of the bed._

_"Rose," he murmured in his sleep, rolling towards her, "S’cold. Don’t go."_

_"Sorry," she whispered back, closing her eyes, afraid of what might happen in the morning. She allowed him to wrap himself around her again, his heartbeat an irresistible lure. "I won’t go."_

The flat was empty now. The Doctor had crept away at some point in the night, leaving her to wake on her own. There was no clue as to where he’d gone, or why he had left, or if he’d be coming back. A knot began to form in the pit of her stomach, heavy and unpleasant.

No, surely he’d come back. He wouldn’t just leave. He wouldn’t do that.

Just as she had the thought, the sound of the front door opening set her heart beating faster. The Doctor shuffled in with his arms full and kicked the door shut behind him. He turned and pulled up short, clearly not expecting to see her already up.

"You’re awake." He slowly set his bags on the floor.

"Yeah."

He looked awkwardly at the floor, clutching a Styrofoam cup in one hand and running the other haphazardly through his already wildly mussed hair. “Thought you’d sleep a bit longer.”

"I’m not the one who was pissed last night," Rose countered, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, courtesy of sleep-deprivation and overindulgence. Still, he was clearly well enough to go traipsing across London to do his early morning shopping. His ability to bounce back after getting sloshed the night before was truly enviable. "You’ve been busy, I see."

That was quickly explained. “I thought you’d be hungry, so I went to get breakfast, but the cafe was still closed. So I thought I’d make something, but I don’t think we had any eggs. So I got some. And I did got coffee, it’s from the grocers so don’t expect much, sorry. Here you go.”

He thrust the cup at her.

"Thanks." She curled her hand around it, letting the comforting warmth of the hot liquid seep through the paper cup into her skin.

"You’re welcome. What would you like for breakfast? Eggs? Toast Hotcakes? Cereal? Wasn’t sure which one you like best so I bought five different brands-" He reached into the bags, pulling the boxes out one by one to show her as she watched, torn between amusement at his eagerness and that peculiar mixture of possessiveness and infatuation that he seemed to constantly draw out of her, particularly when he was displaying his vulnerable side. It was potent, it was.

Before she could reassure him that anything would be fine, they were interrupted by the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Rose and the Doctor turned to stare at it, mystified. 

The front door opened and a familiar voice called out, “It’s just me, love, it’s your mum - you’re home, aren’t you?”

Jackie Tyler burst in, and like the Doctor she was carrying a load of shopping bags. “Your father’s gone off to Wales with that crew of his, including that Adam boy of yours - but really, sweetheart, it’s a bad idea to date inside the company, they call it fraternization - Oh!” Her eyes went round as she saw that Rose wasn’t alone. “Sorry, love, I didn’t realise you’ve got company! Bit early, but- oh! Hello, Doctor! What are _you_ doing here?”

Rose hesitated, caught unaware. There was a moment’s pause, her heart pounding as her brain scrambled for an explanation for the Doctor’s presence in her flat, at half-past eight in the morning. It had never been explicitly discussed between them but he had always seemed to know she wanted to keep her parents in the dark regarding their living arrangements. Now she realised what that must have looked like to him: that he was a dirty secret, something to hide. 

She was slow to react. Too slow. The Doctor looked from her to Jackie and his eyes went flat. She saw it, all too clearly - the exact moment he retreated into himself.

"Rose was feeling poorly," the Doctor said quickly, smiling brightly, at odds with his haggard appearance. "I offered to do the shopping for her."

"Well, that’s very kind of you-"

"-I’m off, then!"

"Eh? No, stay!"

"No, I must be off, got loads to do, people to see, all that jazz! Have a good day, both!"

He took flight, disappearing before Rose could even say goodbye.

Jackie, completely nonplussed, turned to her with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t say I interrupted something! Did I? You didn’t tell me you were still seeing the Doctor? Why didn’t you bring him last night?”

She wasn’t listening. She was staring at the door in terrible disbelief. The Doctor had fled, as though his coat-tails had been on fire.

"Rose? Sweetheart? What’s the matter?"

 

* * *

 

In the wee hours of the morning, the banging began.

Amy’s scowl was something to behold, and though it struck a note of fear into Rory’s soul the way it had since the moment they’d met on the playground all those years ago, he still found it to be both alluring and comforting. 

She seethed, lifting her head just enough to growl, “This is ridiculous. Do not get out of bed.”

"He’ll bang on the wall all night if I don’t." Rory put on his dressing gown, shuffled into his slippers, and cursed mildly as he stubbed his toe on the nightstand.

"You’re not his personal caretaker!"

"The sooner I go, the faster we can go back to sleep." He fumbled sleepily on his side of the bed. "S’alright, I still keep my first aid kit under the bed-"

"That’s not the bloody point!"

"Must be bad. He’s banging to the tune of Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick."

"Good," muttered Amy, her face dark. "I hope it’s awful. He deserves it. Rose has gone out of her mind, she’s worried sick about him, and this whole time he was just- argh! Whatever! I don’t bloody care anymore!"

She had a point, but still, he was a nurse. It wasn’t right to ignore a call for help. And a part of him, that pesky thing otherwise known as his conscience, well, that part said _you had a hand in this_. It was his duty to tend to the fallout. Sort of.

The Doctor was lying flat on his back next door when Rory found him in the kitchen, covered in debris and with bits of the ceiling plaster littered all around him. Rory looked up. There was a hole.

"Nice one. Were you aiming for that, or does it just come naturally to you?" he commented, setting the first aid kit on the kitchen table. Carefully stepping over a chunk of something that was smoking slightly on the floor, he knelt beside the Doctor and felt for a pulse. No major wounds. A burn on his neck. Rory inspected it for severity and deemed it satisfactory to apply a medicated plaster and call it a day.

"Rory," said the Doctor very seriously, "Piece of advice. Don’t microwave styrofoam pellets."

"Oh, good," said Rory faintly. "Might’ve done that, thanks for the tip." He paused. "Um. How exactly did that blow a hole in the ceiling? Your microwave isn’t even plugged in."

The Doctor waved his hand in the air, eyes fastened on the hole with terrifying focus. “Just general advice, that.”

"Right." Rory scratched his arm. Steady on, then. Might as well get to the point. "So. What we talked about, last time."

"Huh?"

"You know- what’re you going to do? You can’t hide here forever."

He probably could, though. The eviction thing had been revoked, through some sort of tenant-rights legalese that no one really understood; a circumstance that the Doctor had not revealed until that unfortunate night at the pub. ( _'So basically you're pretending to be homeless to stay with Rose indefinitely?' 'She said I could.'_ ) Rory heaved a sigh and crossed his legs, settling into a more comfortable position.

The Doctor sat up suddenly, startling him.

"D’you know what? This hole is in the exact shape of the elliptical galaxy ESO 325-G004."

"Is it?"

"Yes! Blimey, that’s brilliant! I’ve been staring at it for nearly ten minutes and didn’t see it until now! Ha!" The Doctor laughed like it was some big joke that only he and the cosmos understood and ruffled his powder-streaked hair.

_Enough_ , Rory thought, and said curtly, “It’s been five days, Doctor. Rose stopped calling two days ago. You can stop hiding. It’s safe to assume she’s not going to chase after you anymore.”

If it were possible to witness every single iota of animation leech out of a person, Rory saw it then. The light in his eyes went out, like a window being shut, and under the streaks of grime his face went colourless.

Great. He’d just punctured the Doctor’s soul.

Awkwardly, he patted the other man’s shoulder. Then he thought better of it, and said, because it needed to be said, “Anyway. It’s what you wanted.”

The Doctor didn’t respond. He was like a clamshell - clamped tightly shut, all the time, his defenses never down. You just didn’t notice it because he was so happy on the outside.

"I mean, you just disappeared without a word. You haven’t got a mobile so she couldn’t contact you and you refused to tell anyone where you went. I think she got the message." He still didn’t speak, so Rory went on, repeating some of the things Amy had said, though with rather more mild wording. "Loud and clear. Reckon you’re good now. Dunno what you’re going to do about your things. Amy said she’d help Rose pack it all up, into boxes, but I think she mentioned driving it over to the landfill in Buckinghamshire, so-"

He paused and shrugged. “Still. It’s what you wanted, right, Doctor?”

 

* * *

 

The itchy, half healed scab left on on the back of her hand by an irrate Ducky bothered Rose the entire day. At least it was a distraction of a sort, giving her something to focus on while she accompanied her father to the very last place she wanted to be on earth: the Science Museum.

_He’s here._

The words repeated themselves in her head, dizzyingly potent. Her stomach churned sickly with anticipation and anger and stupid, stupid hope.

Rory had said so: _The Doctor’s in his bolthole._ Where else would he hide but in his laboratory? Where the doors were locked to outsiders, where signals and people and the real world couldn’t reach him. Where he intended to stay, untouched, unless he ventured out for whatever reason, today of all days- well. What would be the odds of that? Nil, surely. No, she wouldn’t run into him. Not a chance.

And if she ran into him, if that did happen, what would she do?

Throw her bag at his head. Slap him. Or pretend she hadn’t seen him, didn’t know him. Like he didn’t exist, or matter, or mean anything to her. Just silence.

"Rose?"

A voice penetrated her thoughts; she stiffened and turned. It was a female voice, not the Doctor’s, but that didn’t make it any better. It belonged to Donna Noble.

Donna had spotted Rose and was striding purposefully forwards, clipboard in hand. The corners of her mouth tilted up, but it felt forced. “Hi.”

"Hi," Rose replied, and knew right away her gut instinct was correct: he was here.

"It’s none of my business," said Donna, though her tone of voice and the look on her face seemed to suggest she was about to say something to the opposite effect. "Did you have a fight, or something?  He’s been in that lab for days, I mean, literally, days. Maybe you ought to talk to him, make him go outside for a while. I don’t think he’s seen sunlight since Monday."

"Look, I haven’t really got the time," Rose began, steeling herself against the wave of emotion that had welled up at the words. _I don’t care._

"I’m sure whatever he did, he deserves it, but-" She shook her head. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but can’t you give him another chance? I don’t think he’s eating or sleeping."

"I can’t."

"He’s in a really bad way," Donna came as close to pleading as she ever would, on behalf of a bloke she had only known for a few weeks, who she felt sorry for and oddly protective of, for reasons she didn’t quite understand. "Just a few minutes. He’ll listen to you. Smack some sense into him."

 

* * *

 

He looked terrible.

That was the first thing she noticed.

His eyes were bloodshot and his clothes wrinkled, slept in. Several day’s worth of scruff covered the bottom of his face, lending him an almost half-wild, uncivilized air. It was disquieting, to say the least - the Doctor had always been meticulous in his grooming habits - and the fact that he’d clearly let himself go supported the notion that he had, as Donna had put it, ‘gone off the deep end’.

Coffee spilled off the edge of the lab counter, accumulating in a puddle on the floor. The cup it streamed from lay upended and forgotten, knocked over in haste. The Doctor stood still, gaping at her.

"Rose," he breathed.

"Hi," she said. It was all she could manage. They faced one another in charged silence, Rose taking in the sorry sight of him as greedily as he did her own pale, stony figure. Donna hadn’t been lying. He was in a terrible state, and despite herself Rose felt a flutter of worry over his wellbeing.

She wouldn’t let her concern override her fury, though, because she _was_ furious. Properly furious, consumed with it - but she schooled her features into a semblance of false calm and asked, “Have you been in here all this time?”

He was slow to respond, as if unsure if he were talking to a real person or a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to see her. Not so soon, or ever? Rose wondered.

"More or less."

She couldn’t help it. “Did you eat?”

"Yeah."

"When?"

He waved his hand, vaguely, at the clock. “Earlier.”

"When earlier? Today? Yesterday?" She felt drained - a little bit like crying and a little bit like laughing, but a lot like giving him a slap in the face. _I don’t care. I don’t care._ The mantra didn’t help. It wasn’t, to her disgust, true at all, not now, perhaps not in a hundred years.How had he got so deep under her skin? 

"Doesn’t matter. I’m very close to a discovery," he said, giving her an unconvincing smile. "Just… a few more days. Just for the results to come in. They’re promising." He pointed at his computer, that odd, unhappy smile fixed on his face. "I’ll show you!"

The fury surged again, tinged with acrimony. “I don’t care about your results. Donna asked me to check in on you.”

"I’m fine, absolutely fine. Fine as a fiddle! I mean, fit as a fiddle." He looked away and stumbled back into his chair, gaze deliberately locked to the screen while his eyes skittered over the readings on his computer. 

Shut down. Again. There wouldn’t be any resolution or closure. This was a mistake, just as she’d known it would be.

"Right," she said, and turned sharply on her heel. 

She managed to take two steps before she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her back. The Doctor darted around to block her way, his body radiating panic as he placed himself between her and the exit.

She stared up at him, feeling cold both inside her skin and out, waiting, wondering what all this would lead to. The silence stretched out painfully as he held onto her arm, red eyes blown wide with misery. She was tired of it, sick of bearing his reticence.

"Are you going to come back?" she asked finally, since he wouldn’t speak. "If not, I’ll have your stuff sent here. Or wherever you’re staying. Did you find a new flat?"

She knew he hadn’t. He was sleeping here. He must be.

Eyes wide, he shook his head. “No, no, I…”

"Well, let me know when you do. S’only polite." She took a deep breath. "You- you know my number. It hasn’t changed."

The Doctor flinched. The little victory did nothing to quell her hurt and anger. She tried to push past him again but he wouldn’t budge.

"Stop it," she said, frustrated, and to her horror tears began to well up beneath her lashes. 

He flinched again.  

"Just- say something, or let me go. What d’you want? Just spit it out."

"Don’t cry," he said, his voice cracking on each word. "Rose. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

"I’m not crying," she snapped, but she was, the stupid tears were rolling down her cheeks, falling at last. She hadn’t allowed herself to, but now that he was standing before her she couldn’t stop. He tried to pull her into his arms but Rose wouldn’t let him. She hadn’t cried over a bloke in years, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, but he’d done this to her, made her weep and feel like a fool.

"Please," he said, words pouring out of him in panicked waves, enveloping her. "Please, Rose, I- I’ll do anything, anything you want, please don’t cry. Don’t. I can’t bear it. I’ve hurt you, I knew I would, I always do. It’s my fault, I know. I don’t deserve you, everyone’s right, but-"

She choked out, between a pathetic sob and a gasp, “That’s not helping!”

"Sorry-"

"Stop apologizing!" She swiped at her eyes, dashing wetness away. "You’re always talking, but you never _say_ anything! I never know what’s going on, I’m tired of guessing at what you really mean when you do things-” 

Rose pushed ineffectually against his chest, where she could feel his stupid heart pounding, and looked at his stupid face, wishing he didn’t look so scared and sad, so she could just write him off, cut him out of her life. But she couldn’t. “What are you even thinking, right now? I don’t know. I _never_ know.”

"You," he answered, with sheer nerve.

A harsh laugh came from Rose, surprising even herself. “Yeah, right. _Right._ " Her voice raised several pitches, bordering on hysterical. "Obviously!" 

He clenched his fingers into her elbow, said hoarsely, “It’s true.”

"Did you think about me when you were avoiding me?"

"Yes, every second-"

"Bollocks!"

"It’s true, Rose, believe me, you’re all I think about." 

She wasn’t in the mood to be patronized and glared at him through her swollen eyes, a bitter retort on her lips, but he cut her off.

He looked her in the eyes, and spoke slowly, carefully, clearly, chest heaving with emotion. “Sometimes I think about you so much there isn’t- there just isn’t room for anything else. I’m infatuated. Everyone tells me so, and they’re right, they’re absolutely right. I can’t hold it back. I don’t know how. I just want to be with you, all the time, and it frightens me.”

"I used to fall asleep dreaming about chemical compounds and wake up with applications for them in real life, but I don’t do that anymore. You’re the first thing I think about when I open my eyes in the morning. What did Rose dream about? Did you sleep well? Would you rather have waffles or sausages for breakfast? What time will you get home from work? How many times can I hold your hand, today, and for how long each time? Will we get chips for dinner? I never used to eat so much, Rose, until I met you - just now and then, when I had to,  but you… you make it worth stopping for. It was all just minerals and vitamins and chemicals to keep me alive before. Now it’s- now it’s being with you. Sharing with you. It’s domestic, and I’ve never… known that. Never had anyone to be domestic with."

Rose’s heart hammered in her chest, that familiar feeling of longing unfurling inside it. The Doctor’s eyes never left her face, not for a fraction of a second. He seemed unable to stop now that he’d begun.

"Dream about you, too," he whispered, threading his fingers between hers. "I don’t like to sleep. It’s a waste of time. Keeps me away from work, and more interesting things, and you. But if I have to sleep, at least I get to dream about you. S’not as good as the real thing, but…" He lowered his chin, voice deepening the slightest fraction, "… sometimes dreams are good. Some dreams more so than others."

Heat bloomed over her cheeks, along with disbelief - had he really just insinuated what she thought he had? The Doctor had that damned earnest, utterly besotted look on his face. It was the same one he hit her with all the time, the one that had got her into trouble in the first place.

"You’re smiling," he said suddenly, cupping her face with his hand. He looked at her in wonder and hope.

"No I’m not," she said automatically, pressing her lips together and stepping back, away from his touch. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t. This wasn’t the first time he’d opened up a little bit to her, made her feel she was important to him, only to have him pull back again and leave her in the lurch.

"Rose-"

"I don’t believe you," she said.

His hand shook, as he pulled it slowly away. “Oh.”

"I don’t."

"Okay."

"You always do this. You always make me think you want more than… that you want me. But you don’t, so-" She steeled herself against the tears again. "Stop it."

"I do want you. I do." He was breathing hard, overwhelmed by emotion. "It’s just…" 

"What?"

"What can I possibly offer you, Rose? You already have it all. Friends and family and warmth and compassion. You have everything I don’t."

He had always kept the world at a distance, preferring intellectual pursuits over almost everything else. Here and there he had formed relationships, but inevitably they had ended, his partners coming to realise that he was a nomad both physically and emotionally.

There would be no rest with the Doctor, no stopping point. Strip away the intellect and the charm and the insatiable curiosity and what was left? A lonely soul, untethered, no family, no home, no roots.

"Maybe you’re just humoring me. Maybe you just feel sorry for me, because I… I’m not good at keeping people in my life. I drive them away. Just something about me, I suppose."

She was stunned. “Is that what you think? That I pity you?”

He swallowed, flustered. ”Rose, you could have anyone. Look at you.” _Why would you want me?_

“I _kissed_ you, Doctor. I don’t kiss people just because I feel bad for them.”

"Don’t you?"

"No. I kiss people because I want to kiss them. Do you understand?"

He looked at the floor and then back up, his expression uncertain.

"You didn’t want me to kiss you, is that it?"

"No!" The Doctor said, vehement. "No, that’s not- I mean, I did. Want you to, very much." He looked to her for guidance, but would receive no help there, and he knew it. "I just… didn’t know."

"Know what?"

"In the past I’ve mistaken compassion for more than it was. There was no reason to believe… it was any different, this time." He looked away, his soft underbelly exposed, jaw trembling slightly. The eerie greenish tint from the fluorescent lighting of the lab made him look paler than before. "And… you denied it, often. Particularly to your parents."

The only reason she’d resisted her parents getting the wrong idea was because there _hadn’t_ been anything going on. Between the lines, yeah, maybe, but that wasn’t enough to make the embarrassment of having to tell her Mum she’d imagined it all in her head worthwhile. For a few days she’d really believed that was the case.

Now - now she was tentatively certain it was the opposite. That they could make this work, after all. She took a deep breath, and said, “I just didn’t want to get their hopes up, that’s all. Good thing, too, considering you did a runner.”

His eyes went wide, guilt and fear flickering in their depths. “I-“

She said solemnly, infusing her tone with as much sober truth as she could, “I’m serious, Doctor. If you do this again… if you disappear on me, even one more time, that’s it. We’re done.”

"We… we’re not done, then?" 

Rose scowled. Why had she fallen in love with an idiot? “D’you want us to be?”

"No!"

"Are you going to come back now?"

The hope intensified in his gaze. “Is that okay?”

"Yeah," she replied, realising that it was. It was more than okay, and for the first time in weeks, Rose felt her heart lighten, felt the aching knot in her chest loosen, allowing her to breathe and live and speak properly. They weren’t done talking, either, not by a long shot, but for now, it was enough.

She took the Doctor’s hand.

She took him home.

 

* * *

 

"Shower," she ordered, pushing him into the bathroom. "Shower, and shave, and put gel into your hair. It looks all weird, flattened down like that. S’not right. Fix it."

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Rose cut him short by throwing a towel over his head. He grunted and stepped backwards as she shut the door and sat down on the floor, back propped against it.

He called out to her periodically over the sound of the water, and she replied, understanding that he needed the reassurance that she was there. Rose sent a quick message to her father, apologizing for leaving him.

When he finished, the Doctor opened the door, carefully, so she didn’t fall backwards, but Rose had heard the water turn off and was already on her feet. He wasn’t dressed save for a towel wrapped around his waist. She was pretty certain that towel was full-sized, or it had been, but now it seemed to cover very little real estate when on his tall, lean frame.

"Didn’t have any clean clothes," he murmured, his ears ever so slightly tipped with pink. Droplets of water dripped from his hair to his bare shoulder, catching Rose’s eye. She was lost to it for a minute. Then sanity returned and she shook off the pang of desire that swirled in her veins. 

"We’re- we’re _not_ going to, you know-” Rose said carefully, averting her eyes. 

Not right away, at least. She still felt raw, his recent behaviour still stung, enough to give her pause at the thought of that level of intimacy. She would need time to get back into that headspace, to allow herself to give into sexual attraction. “I mean, not tonight.”

He nodded vigorously. “Of course! Of course, I wasn’t expecting- not at all- you’re still- well. It’s… fine. Even if you don’t want to, anymore, I understand-“

What? How on earth did he come to these conclusions?

"You know what? You’re a bleedin’ drama queen, you are!"

He gaped at her, clearly not expecting this comeback.

"You turned me down. At that inn, that night, on your birthday. Don’t pretend it didn’t happen, I know you knew exactly what I was… what I wanted. I thought you didn’t want me that way, so I backed off."

"But I really didn’t think you’d want to-"

"And then you got jealous and pissed and kissed me and led me on again!"

"I wasn’t leading you on! I wasn’t! Rose, how could you even _think_ -” He stammered, blushing, “I’d give anything to-to be with you like that.”

Right. That was better.

"Come here," she said, and pulled him forward, giving in to the siren call.   
One kiss was alright. One kiss would simply seal the deal. 

He went very rigid against her - and not in the, ahem, fun way - so she slowed down, ran her hands across his shoulders, let her lips graze his slowly until he relaxed. Then she snogged him, well and proper, her hands sliding into his hair, tugging at the soft strands like she’d wanted to for ages, and it was so, so, so good. Their first real kiss.

When finally Rose pulled back, the Doctor had the most brilliant expression on his face: equal parts dazed, happy, and amazed. Exactly how she felt.

"Understand now?"

He nodded, his jaw still slack.

Better make sure. She leaned back in and kissed him again, as thoroughly as she could, wrapping both arms around his neck. She felt his hand press into the small of her back. The other hand moved slowly, inching down her side until it rested on the curve of her bottom - she smiled into the kiss, a surge of satisfaction rising through her body at his tentative touch. As a reward, Rose bit his lower lip lightly, which made him buck like he’d been electrocuted. He was bloody adorable.

And aggressive, too. The hand on her bum applied a sudden, not unwelcome squeeze. His kisses - _he_ was kissing _her_ now, oh most definitely - grew urgent, demanding. She responded with a thrill of wonder and gratification as well. A teeny part of her had been worried about this… about his potential lack of… well, experience. Those concerns were not exactly nullified, but at least she knew he was inclined towards it. And he was a good kisser.

She had to know, though. Considering how blatantly he was demonstrating his ardor right now, she felt she was owed some further explanation, insecurities aside.

"How could I have been any more obvious?" she asked against his mouth, unwilling to keep any sort of distance between her lips and his. "I mean… I said ‘come with me to bed’. Literally those exact words."

He pressed kisses to her lower lip, speaking in bursts between them, as though he were incapable of stopping himself. “I… don’t… know. I… it was… stupid of… me.”

"Very."

"Logic is a poor match for fear," he said, simply, seriously, stalling her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she could see genuine regret in his gaze. "Rose. I’m a coward, you know. I always run. I’m not proud of it."

"I’m scared, too," she told him. It was true. She was gun shy. Every relationship had ended badly. Her past was littered with men who held ulterior motives like Jimmy Stone, who’d made her quit school and left her in debt; or Mickey, who hadn’t dealt well with having a girlfriend who was suddenly an heiress and as a result had strayed. Perhaps more damaging was the fact that his low self-esteem had fueled Rose’s, made her believe she was a sort of imposter in her own life. But the Doctor was different. "I’m bloody terrified. But it doesn’t matter."

The Doctor inhaled, his cheek trembling under her hand.

"You’re sure?" Doubt filled his features. "I’m not easy to…" he paused, looking so vulnerable it made her heart wrench in her chest. To love? How could he not know that he was the easiest person in the world to love?

"I’ll be terrible at it."

"At what?"

"I forget things. Lose them. Dates, names, anniversaries. Get distracted. It’s chaotic in my head," he said, his voice hushed, solemn. "I’m always the smartest person in the room at any given moment. That’s not bragging, you know, it’s just how it is. As a child I was called gifted. This big ol’ noggin of mine, gifted to me at birth, always whirring away. There’s no quiet up in here. I get lost in it, sometimes. I forget about the real world, about others."

She understood what he meant. She’d seen inklings of it, the predicament of his existence: the loneliness that shaped his life despite his best efforts to conceal it on the outside. Eager to befriend but frightened to see people move on without him, leaving him behind.

"Would you forget me?"

He looked aghast. “No!”

Rose stroked his daft, beloved, stricken face. “S’alright, then. And for the record, I think you’re amazing. Truly, I do. You are the most remarkable person I have ever met.”

He was incomparable, it was undeniably true. A mind like his graced the earth once in a million. She slipped her hand into his, and squeezed. There was no static charge this time, but she felt a shock zing between them nevertheless.

"You are brilliant," she said. "You inspire me."

She hoped he understood what she wanted to say. The words didn’t come easily, she had never been clever in that way, her tongue often refusing to co-operate when she wanted it to be quicksilver and glib.

"Inspire you," he repeated, those changeable eyes of his looking down at her.

"Yes." He’d taught her how to look at things differently, to see the world as more than just work and stress and social obligation. He’d taught her to take the time to play and to enjoy things for what they were. To appreciate life. He made every day an adventure, and life was just better, with him in it.

"I could say the same," he said softly. "I’ve changed since I met you. I’m so glad I did."

There was something in his voice, a sort of reverence, that made Rose want to curl up and burrow herself inside him, inside that wonderful warmth.

"I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rose Tyler."

_Me too._

She smiled, didn’t say it out loud, but he seemed to know how she felt anyway. That was fine.

"Noted. You really need to put on some pants now."

He looked down at himself, seemed reluctant to move. Was that disappointment lurking on his face?

"It’s not punishment, if that’s what you’re thinking," Rose said, straight to the point. No more dancing about each other, saying things they didn’t really mean. She would be honest with him and hope he would respond in kind. "I need time. And so do you."

"I know."

"Is that okay with you?"

He kissed her palm. “Of course. I’d wait a million years for you, Rose Tyler.”

*

_TBC_


	10. Mechanical Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut content, so I upped the overall rating to M. Thank you for reading and for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks - I've loved writing this story and can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate all your kind feedback and encouragement! Thank you so much!

*****

"YOU GO TO BED FIRST," the Doctor said, bending his head back nearly ninety degrees to look up at her, standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. She bent and kissed him, savouring the brief happiness of tasting his lips, before nodding her assent.

"Don’t stay up all night," she said meaningfully, recalling the number of times he’d bid her goodnight and promised he’d sleep himself in a few hours, only for her to discover him still putting about the kitchen the next morning, wide-eyed and buzzing with his second wind.

"I won’t," he promised, and the look he gave her was enough reassurance. He was much more willing to submit to his body’s need for rest these days, ever since they’d started sleeping together in her bed. Just sleeping, mind, but that was more than enough to get him racing up the stairs as soon as his work was finished.

True to his word, he crept into bed hours later, the weight of his body making the mattress dip.

"Mmm," she said, rolling over onto her back.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I woke you."

"S’okay." Rose yawned and shivered from the cool air of the bedroom. The Doctor slipped under the covers with her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling the quilt over them both. She snuggled into his chest, sniffing the mingled scent of their laundry powder, soap, and felt disgustingly content. "What time is it?"

"Seven," he whispered back, guiltily.

That jarred her awake a bit more. “Seven? In the morning?” She blinked, cracking her eyes open a fraction. The room was still dark - he’d drawn the blinds to keep it so.

"Sorry," he replied meekly.

Rose rubbed her face into his shoulder, exasperated. “You just keep going until you collapse. It’s not healthy.”

"I know, but-"

"Shut up and sleep already," she said, kissing his throat. "You silly man. We’re not leaving this bed until it’s well into the afternoon, you hear?"

"Yes ma’am." He sighed deeply, "It’s just… Rose, you know I can’t turn off my brain, I keep thinking, and thinking, and thinking- and I had an amazing revelation an hour ago, really, I do think it’s ground-breaking, revolutionary, even, so I kept going, even though I knew you’d be upset with me-"

"I’m going to be really angry if you don’t stop talking and go to sleep," she threatened.

She could practically feel him pouting. He huffed, his breath tickling her nose. In retaliation, she blew a raspberry against his collar, making him squirm and then laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest. His arm clamped around her waist and dragged her even closer, fingers tickling the sensitive spot between her ribs. That was decidedly dirty play.

"Oi!"

Payback was necessary, so Rose sought his mouth with hers and found it in the dark, kissing him over and over until she had no breath left in her lungs. Then she did it some more, sliding her fingers into his hair, rewarding him with gentle tugs on the soft strands when he nibbled on her lower lip. She pressed herself against him as he kissed the corner of her mouth, and then her chin, and then along the column of her throat.

They’d rolled over and now the Doctor was above her on his elbows, his lips latched to her collar. She sighed and arched her back, his hand finding it’s way under the hem of her t-shirt, bunching it up as he stroked her stomach. One finger traced along her sternum with the lightest of touches, following one rib until it met the bottom of her right breast. He traced along that curve, electricity seeming to trail his fingertip, setting her on fire. Then his palm covered her, grazed the pebbled nipple, and she moaned, loudly.

The Doctor hesitated only for a second - he lifted  his gaze to take in Rose’s expression, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and something dark and wanting glinted in his eyes at the sight. He bent his head and resumed his tasks, bringing the hot trail of his mouth to meet with the aching peak. Pleasure zipped through Rose, warm and heady; it had been years since anyone had touched her intimately, far too long, and her need ascended rapidly, going from zero to _take me now_ in about one bazillionth of a second.

"Like silk," he said against her skin, voice low and quiet in the dark. "So soft."

Pulse hammering in her ears, Rose gripped the back of the Doctor’s neck, desire making her head spin.

"Rose," he said, licking her nipple with one swipe of his tongue, "Rose," he repeated her name as his fingers gently circled the other, felt it harden instantly under his deft ministrations, "Rose-"

Her mouth opened and Rose said something, _something_ , she had no idea what, perhaps a prayer or an expletive or both, but it seemed to encourage the Doctor. He went on kissing her breasts, his breath coming in stronger pants as the minutes went by. He pressed her to the bed, his weight on her body, hips cradled between her thighs.

She was starting to lose her mind.

And then the bloody doorbell rang.

 

* * *

 

When Rose mustered enough strength - after doing several rounds of slow breathing, coupled with a few relaxing yoga poses in bed, meant to be calming - she finally roused herself and shuffled into the shower.

She emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and teeth brushed, to find the living room empty save for two used tea-cups. From the hallway she could hear Rory very earnestly saying, “It won’t be so bad. You’ll do fine, I’m sure. Just give it a go.” He paused. “Fortune favours the brave, and all that, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded slowly, and closed the door behind him as Rose appeared behind him, holding her own cuppa.

Rose blinked. “What did you two talk about?”

"He was giving me advice on telescopes." The Doctor scratched his neck. "I think. It might have been telescopes. Or sex."

She choked on the sip she’d begun to take, wondering if he was joking, and decided she’d rather not know.

"Nice of him to drop by for a visit," the Doctor said blithely, a very charitable sentiment considering how annoyed he had been at being interrupted earlier. Rose had been nothing short of murderous herself, but could anyone really blame her? She’d been laid out, getting worshipped - it was enough to make a bloody saint scream.

The Doctor cheerfully handed her the mail he’d picked up from the floor. “You’ve got post, by the way.”

She took the offered item from him. It was a letter from her University, reminding her that re-registration dates were drawing close. She was only several credits away from graduation, but deferral seemed inevitable. Another anvil, hanging over her head, the incompletion weighing on her. She felt trapped, in limbo.

Maybe if she knew what she wanted to do, beyond not wanting to be the future leader of her father’s business empire… but she hadn’t a clue. So it was all a moot point anyway, and so she walked into the bedroom, fully intending to put the letter into her drawer, out of sight, out of mind. But the Doctor followed her, leaned against the door, and watched as she sat down at her dressing table.

In the vanity mirror she met his eyes.

"Vitex is Vitex," he said slowly, seeming to be able to read her mind. "And you’re you."

Easy for him to say. Because she already knew the answer, she asked, “What did your parents do?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “My parents were both scientists, leaders in their respective fields. I followed in their footsteps, because I wanted to. They were happy about it, but that’s not the reason why I did it.”

"I don’t know what I want to do," she admitted. "I really haven’t a clue. Isn’t that pathetic?"

"No," he said, shaking his head firmly. "You’ve got a lifetime to figure it out."

"I don’t want to disappoint my dad."

"I doubt you could, Rose. You’re his perfect girl. He’d never hear a bad word about you. He’s always talking about you when I see him-"

She regarded him skeptically. “In between his attempts to recruit you for the company?”

The Doctor grinned, a touch cheeky. “Why do you think I’m allowed to hang around you? He likes me.”

Rose didn’t quite believe him. Pete wasn’t an overprotective parent. He was laid-back, but attentive… perhaps he might’ve been the opposite if he’d known her as a little girl and not a full grown adult… she’d never know, would she? Still, the teasing made her feel lighter, less anxious.

"No one else is allowed to touch his daughter," the Doctor added, with a touch of smugness that was somewhat out of character. Then again, he did have a jealous streak, though it was well hidden and manifested itself silently, causing him to retreat into himself, his insecurities making him doubt his ability to fight for what he wanted. Rose was careful to make sure he knew that he was the only person she cared for in that way and reminded him of it often.

And speaking of touching…

"Earlier," she said, broaching the subject, because they really needed to talk about it, before actually, ahem, _doing it_ , as it were. “This, uh, morning-“

The Doctor’s mood went directly from concerned humour to concerned anxiety. He looked at her, puppy-eyed.

"We got a bit carried away," Rose continued. To be fair, she’d initiated it, kissing him like that. "-Not your fault, though."

He relaxed slightly. She had no regrets, and if they’d been able to follow through… well, that would have been wonderful. She was ready now, she’d gone to her GP and was protected, and they had come clean with each other about their sexual histories: years of nothing for either of them.

"It was… lovely," she added, which made his silly face light up.

"It was," he said, taking a step towards her. "It was fantastic."

She was afraid her smile was just as silly as his own was.

Oh, well.

What was being in love for, except to give a girl a reason to act like a fool? Happily, he was just as much of one as she was, and sometimes, when she turned to look at him just to see his face because she missed it, he was already staring back at her. It was the best feeling in the world.

 

* * *

 

Her blood hummed in her veins, throbbing in tune with her pulse, leaving her feeling languid and breathlessly close to throwing all caution to the wind and letting him have his way. With her. On the counter of his laboratory, which had been carelessly cleared with the sweep of one arm, beakers crashing to the ground and left unceremoniously there to stain the flooring.

Rose pulled back with great reluctance. The edge of the counter was rather sharp, being all modern and solid steel and was digging into the back of her thighs, potentially close to drawing blood if she squirmed any harder. The Doctor followed her movement, his mouth seeking hers, stealing kiss after kiss.

"I have to go," she murmured, wrenching her lips away, panting against his cheek.

He kissed her jaw and ran his hands up and down her back, drawing her closer. He was already far too close, standing between her knees with her legs wrapped around him. He ground against her, momentarily setting her senses aflame, making her lose all logical thought. He was persistent when he wanted something, and judging from the rapid beating of his heart under her palm, he was in a fairly desperate state.

"Five minutes," he said entreatingly.

"Can’t," she replied, feeling very sorry indeed. "I have a meeting with my Dad this afternoon."

The Doctor’s breath hitched, and then he nodded. He pressed his forehead to hers, struggling to regain control. Rose stroked his face in sympathy.

"Soon," she whispered.

Finally, with heroic effort, he eased his grip.

"Remember," she said, "Five o’clock. I’m driving. I’ll wait for you by the entrance. If you’re late, I’m sending Donna in."

He made a face, but followed it up with a grin. She kissed him one last time before hopping off the counter, adjusting her blouse, and hurrying out of the lab before he got his hands on her again. Pink crested on her cheeks as she met Donna along the way waiting for the lift Rose came out of, a knowing smirk on her face.

"I’ll remind him," she said as Rose walked past, ever helpful.

"Ta!"

Butterflies of a very different sort swarmed in her stomach as she returned to Vitex, fully aware her one hour lunch had stretched to nearly one-and-a-half. She pressed a finger to her tingling, kiss-bruised lips and ignored the curious looks that were cast her way as she headed for the top floor of the building. From inside her bag she withdrew the creased letter from her University, and took a deep breath.

Rose knocked on her father’s office door, twice, firmly. His voice called out for her to come in.

"Dad," she said, closing the door behind her. "There’s something I want to talk to you about."

 

* * *

 

The Doctor rubbed Rose’s shoulders, and she leaned back onto him, enjoying the sensation of his hands melting away the tension in her muscles. She sighed. “Thank you.”

"Poor Rose," he said, "You’re very tense."

"Just think, this is only the dress rehearshal," Rose said with a sigh, and turned around to slip her arms around his waist. The hotel convention hall buzzed with activity, with party planners and decorators and friends filling in the melee, Jackie and Pete at the center of it, ready to renew their wedding vows. "In two weeks, we do all this again, for real. Oh, well. As long as they’re happy, I’m happy. And it’s lovely, isn’t it? Romantic."

The Doctor kissed the top of her head in agreement. He shifted her out of the way of a wandering server, grabbed a canapé off the silver tray as it passed, and shoved it into his mouth.

"Nice," said Rose, rolling her eyes.

He looked immediately apologetic. “Oh, sorry, did you want one?”

"No," she shook her head. "You’ve got some on your…"

Struck by inspiration, she lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth, flicking the crumb away with her tongue. He responded straight away, kissing her properly, all sweetness and warmth. She melted against him, like she always did, wishing they were alone, wishing they were at home in her big, soft bed…

Pete coughed, and they sprang apart like guilty children caught playing a kissing game. Exactly… like that. Rose blushed, but Pete didn’t seem upset at all. He just shook his head slightly, and did not deliver a rebuke. She felt a stirring of happiness and relief, knowing her father’s affection did not hinge upon her ability to live up to what she deemed were his ideals for daughterhood. He loved her, he truly did, and she didn’t have to earn that love. Pete had said as much in his office, when she’d told him her fears about the future. He simply wanted her to be happy, and to have a place in her life, to be her father where he hadn’t been for so many years.

Now he said, in a gently chiding but amused tone, “Come on, you two - time to cut the cake.”

The cake - not the actual one, mind - was a lovely creation, a mini-version of the real thing. It was also delicious, and sugary, and made the Doctor very hyperactive, much to Rose’s amusement. The party started after that, though without alcohol because it was just a rehearsal - probably for the best.

Rose slipped away when Jackie started telling the Doctor stories about her youth - he was delighted but she most certainly wasn’t. She wasn’t against him hearing them, per se, but she didn’t want to be present while he listened, because it was just _embarrassing_. Still, no secrets, that was their promise to each other. He already knew everything about her that was worth knowing, childhood stunts aside, and he had revealed a lot to her, during their long talks into the wee hours of the morning when he just couldn’t sleep.

Excitement added a spring to her step as she escaped and went into the lobby to fulfill her mission before returning.

Pete and Jackie were laughing at whatever story the Doctor was regaling them with. Rose joined them, slotting herself neatly between the Doctor and her mum. They made space for her, automatically, because she belonged there.

"Hello," he said, and took her hand, which was precisely what she wanted him to do. Rose pressed the item in her palm into his and waited for him to look down and see what it was. His reaction was slow to come, but when it did, it was worth the subterfuge. He looked up, pocketing the small bit of plastic, and smiled, a secretive glint in his eyes.

"Dad, I think Lucille was looking for you," Rose said, "I think she mentioned a conference call?"

Pete went off to look for his PA, taking Jackie with him, and Rose took the opportunity to pull the Doctor by the arm out of the crowded hall and into the lobby.

Hand in hand, they took the lift to the fifteenth floor, dashing impatiently through the corridor to the right room and letting themselves in, giggling and whispering secrets to one another.

She skipped backwards, and flopped onto the bed, bouncing slightly and kicked off her heels. He sank to his knees before her, giddiness melting away and intensity of purpose taking it’s place. His big scientist hands, warm and capable, spanned the width of her ribcage easily and stroked across her stomach with reverence. A shiver ran through her body, spreading like wildfire.

"Unzip me," she whispered, against his mouth. He blinked, once, eyelids heavy, and obliged, dragging the zipper on the back of her dress slowly down, tooth by tooth. She shrugged out of the cap sleeves as soon she there was enough wiggle room, revealing her bare breasts to the Doctor. No bra. His eyes went glassy, and he stared for a moment, overwhelmed.

"You’re beautiful," he said, which, despite everything, made her blush. He kissed one rosy crested tip, and then the other, and lovingly nuzzled the valley in between, an expression of vague disbelief on his face, as if he doubted the reality of the situation.

_At last,_ her libido chanted, _finally, finally, finally._

The rest of her dress came off easily, as did the Doctor’s jacket, shirt, and trousers. She lay back on the bed, in her sheer black stockings and knickers, almost dizzy with want. He knelt at the foot of the bed, kissed her stomach, and spread her legs wider, making space for himself there. She felt his breath ghost along her skin, down a thigh, felt his hands trace the edge of the stocking hem, along with a shuddering intake of breath - and then warmth, directly over her centre.

Rose bucked, taken by surprise and pleasure. He kissed her through the lacy thong, pulling it aside in order to taste her with no obstruction, his tongue sweeping along her sensitive core. It was unbelievably hot; she could hardly believe it was happening. She couldn’t tell in the heat of the moment if he was skilled, but he certainly was passionate and eager and thorough, turning her into a boneless, writhing heap.

It was too much. Rose dragged him up, head tossing back and forth on the sheets, shaking from head to toe with want. He came willingly, crawling over her, and she stroked him, once, just to feel him.

Then, at last- the shock of him, the sheer heat and chemistry coming to a head, all of it leading to this moment. Rose cried out as the Doctor sank into her, hard and sleek, his graceful body arching, every muscle straining for control. It was delicious, the friction and heat and slip of their bodies, moving together in a barely synced rhythm - that would come, in time and with practice - but this first union was one of desperation. It was imbued with months and months of yearning, finally coming to heady, sizzling fruition.

She raked her nails along his spine, urging him on, his thrusts growing more forceful, each one slamming the headboard against the wall with a satisfying thunk that Rose could barely make out over the roaring pleasure. She made noises that would embarrass her later, but she really didn’t care.

"I love you," the Doctor said, completing her with his body and his words. She moaned his name, and echoed his love back to him, wrapping herself around him, accepting him like he accepted her, and hoping fervently, deliriously, that this single perfect moment could go on forever, before her pleasure hit its ultimate peak and she lost herself in the cresting flood of sensation.

 

* * *

 

"Rose," whispered the Doctor in her ear, as sunlight flooded the room- "I can’t find my shirt."

It was impossible to laugh and stay asleep at the same time, so she gave up the struggle. Turning, she rolled so that she lay on top of him. “Good morning, Doctor.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Good morning, Rose.”

And so it was.

 

 

_THE END._


End file.
